After the Fall of Angels
by ITheBlaze
Summary: The city has fallen, and lives are in ruins. Rock wakes to a world quite different than the one he grew up in.
1. Darkness

Metropolis doesn't belong to me.  
  


**After the Fall of Angels**

  


**Chapter 1**

  
  
_Lo! Death has reared himself a throne   
In a strange city lying alone   
Far down within the dim West   
Where the good and the bad and the worst and the best   
Have gone to their eternal rest.   
-Edgar Allan Poe "City in the Sea"_

It was a place of night. A cave of dark shadows, broken dreams and old blood along with new. It should have been a fearful place, but its denizens were in no position to care about ambiance. It was a black place, and it was cold, but most of all, It was safe.

The ink-black darkness seemed to swallow light whole, coating the un-place with nothing. But no creature, animal or artificial stirred, except one.

And that was faint.

In the dark world, there was a solitary, gleaming light. A shining red, it illuminated the smallest of patches, showing the dirt and grime and broken glass. It seemed to emerge from a boy, solitary and alone among the shadows, trickling in a thin stream from a jagged hole and over a shirt as black as the walls.

A drop shone, clinging to life for the briefest moment, died, and was replaced by another. The boy watched it in detached fascination, seeing only the blurry glitter and feeling no pain. The crimson light formed a dark puddle at his side, pooling in shadow. It stained the black shirt dark, where the dirt hadn't already accomplished the same task.

He watched.

Drip, shine, die. Be replaced. Drip, shine, die.

It seemed so familiar, somehow.

"I am _so_ tired of this," said one jumpsuit-clad man to another as they walked across a wasteland, "that I'm just about ready to retire." The short, blond man by his side snorted with laughter.

"Retire to what?" he shook his head, "you've lived in zone one all your life! You don't have the money, and you like your job. Besides, what else could you do? Become a garbage picker? A bum? Eric, you have more pride than that!"

Eric, a gentle man built like a cement truck, looked forlorn. "I was only seeing what you thought, James. Besides, I like being a rescue worker. It makes me feel- like- oh, I can't find the word..."

"Heroic?" offered the blond man with a smile. "I always thought so too."

The black pool was spreading, staining the floor and debris. The boy paid no attention. His rapture for the glittering redness had faded, and the feeling in his arms and legs was returning. Trying valiantly to ignore it, the boy set all his mind to concentrating on the shining light. The new pain in his left arm was distracting and it was only a matter of time before feeling reached his chest, but he fought against it with all his will. It was going to hurt.

The pain in his arm was a dull ache, growing steadily. Still concentrating on numbing himself, the boy clasped his right arm around his left and held it still. Drawing his knees up as far as they would go, he whimpered as the pain got worse.

The numbness was creeping away, but he could still watch the light.

Eric approached the smaller man, who was standing still and staring at nothing. "James?" he hazarded, "James, earth to James-"

"Shut up!" he called tersely, "I thought I heard something!" Cupping a hand around his ear, James listened carefully. A faint whine, like a dog in pain was carried on the wind. Pointing to the left, he ran off. "Over there!" he yelled, gesturing. Eric trailed behind, amazed at his friend's intuition.

James paused, listening again. The noise was closer. He walked slowly, staring at the ground, then-

"There!" he called, spotting a hole in the debris. "There's somebody in there! Give me a hand, Eric!"

Grunting and groaning, they managed to lever off the metal slab covering the small opening.

They stared for a moment.

"Dammit..."

The boy watched the glittering crimson light drip and fall, never ceasing and never slowing. The numbness, receding from his arms and legs, left white-hot needles in its wake. It seemed that the only part left numb was the crimson pool. Concentrating on it, it kept the boy from screaming with the pain in his arm.

Drip.  
Glitter.  
Die.

The crimson light began to expand, slowly at first, glowing white at the edges. It spread and spread, slowly, then the darkness disappeared all at once. The boy screamed silently at the searing whiteness, seeing only brilliant red. He vaguely heard someone speak above, and wondered if he was dead.

The red was no longer beautiful. He felt that was wrong, somehow.

He sensed rather than heard two people drop down beside him. "James..." said one, "he's alive?"

"Looks like it."  
"Lucky kid. He- ...my god..."  
"What?"  
"He's lying in a pool of-"  
"Eric! call the medics! I don't care how you do it, just get them here NOW!"

One presence left. The boy was thankful for that and wished the other would go. The light was burning, scaldingly bright. A low whine escaped him.

"Hey!" cried the second presence, "you're conscious?!" The boy wished he wasn't. The pain was getting worse.

"Um... okay. Try to keep them conscious... That's what they told us..." the presence muttered, kneeling close to the boy. "So... my name's James. What's your name?"

The boy shivered and shook his head.  
  
"Don't know?"  
  
He shook his head.  
  
"Can't talk?"  
  
The boy hesitated, then nodded.

"Okay, I'll talk, then. You fell from somewhere very high up, if you're in this sector. At least twenty floors, probably far more. Don't know how you survived this far." The presence named James paused, regarding the boy, who was looking at him strangely.

"The ziggurat, remember? The robots and the explosions? The-" This seemed to jar loose a memory. The boy's eyes widened, and he spoke.

"Rock."   
  
James paused, mid-sentence. "What?"   
  
"M-my name is... Rock."   
  
Along with Rock's remembrance of his name came a rush of knowledge, and the loss of the last bits of numbness. He doubled up, gasping.   
  
James panicked. "What's wrong? What's wrong!?" Rock grimaced.   
"...Hurts..."   
  
Suddenly, all the pain vanished. He turned his head to James and smiled.  
"Isn't the Red beautiful?"  
  
And the darkness swallowed him up.  
  



	2. Memory

  
  
Author notes: Thanks for reading! That's all.  
Disclaimer: Metropolis doesn't belong to me, but Rock is MINE! MINE I TELL YOU! I-... uh... what do you mean I own nothing? Oh well. I guess he isn't mine.   
  


** After the Fall of Angels  
Chapter 2**

  
  
MyÊgarden-plotÊIÊhaveÊnotÊkept;  
ÊÊFadedÊandÊall-forsaken,  
IÊweepÊasÊIÊhaveÊneverÊwept:  
OhÊitÊwasÊsummerÊwhenÊIÊslept,  
ÊÊIt'sÊwinterÊnowÊIÊwaken.  
  
TalkÊwhatÊyouÊpleaseÊofÊfutureÊspring  
ÊÊAndÊsun-warm'dÊsweetÊto-morrow:  
Stripp'dÊbareÊofÊhopeÊandÊeverything,  
NoÊmoreÊtoÊlaugh,ÊnoÊmoreÊtoÊsing,  
ÊÊIÊsitÊaloneÊwithÊsorrow.  
-Christina Rossetti (A Daughter of Eve)

It wasn't long after the ziggurat fell that they started being found. Robots of all shapes and sizes, complete or in a thousand pieces. Machines, fallen dead from the top floors, circuits fused and casings cracked.

They had been attacking.

They collapsed when the tower fell, and were consumed by pressure and flame. There were thousands, littering the debris and the small patches of ground far below, beyond hope of repair. Of course, that didn't stop the poorer zone one residents from scavenging for parts.

The human population was severely decimated. Nearly all of the survivors were from zone one, with few upper city denizens thrown in. Most of the upper class had simply burned among their riches. Zone one had been pared down as well, nearly a third of their population crushed by debris. There were many mechanical survivors, being more hardy than their human counterparts. Most were cleaning units and dumb machines. The cleaning machines, the sweepers, the Alberts, and the heavy labor robots made up most of the mechanical ranks. Again, there was a smattering of upper city circuitry.

Robots and humans alike were helped by the rescue teams, though human survivors were becoming rarer and rarer. Most human survivors were pulled out in the first two days after the fall. After that they were either found dead, or not found at all.

Ironically, one of the first survivors pulled out of the wreckage was an unconscious Duke Red, the man responsible for the destruction. Though it must of course be noted, no one _knew_ he was responsible. After all, Tima had been an extremely well-kept secret. To the citizens, he was nothing more than an ordinary man. It had been president Boone's administration that so ruthlessly squashed the worker's revolution, not this man. Though his Marduks had made enemies, Duke Red was still held in high regard. His Marduks had held down that first robot rampage, protecting the citizens. Truly, a modern hero!

So Duke Red was cared for in the lower Metropolis general hospital, in the greatest available luxury. The staff fell over each other to please him, and he accepted it as his due. He had, of course, brooded for several days when he learned the extent of the ziggurat's damage, but decided that what was past was past. Duke Red chose, instead, to focus on the future. He had managed to get a loyal group of sycophants from among the patients and hospital staff, winning them over with praise, impressing them with his fame.

Duke Red had learned the first lesson of dictatorship well. The easiest way to power is to be carried by allies.

The boy woke in the dark, again having forgotten his name. He screamed when the doctors held him, thrashed so much that they tied him down. He cried out through the haze of drugs and so the doctors gagged him as they operated.

He was helpless, and he was afraid. The boy made a retreat into his mind, sifting through blurry, random memories to avoid the pain. His flat blue eyes stared at nothing, gazing into the glaring light above.

At first, the memories were few and far between, a trickle of a smile here, a tear there. Then a stream, a river, a torrent and a flood of information swelled inside him. Faint, long-ago memories of a high place and a girl's golden hair, a vast city from above. More recent memories of a man (his father, he knew with certainty) with a crest of blond hair and impeccable suits. He felt sure that the man had loved him, once.

And that- that-

_Creature_. That mockery of his stepsister, that _thing_ that wore her face. The machine that stole his father's heart, leaving him bleeding on that rough floor. The red-hazed walk through the crumbling maze, and falling-

falling...

The boy pulled himself out of memory. The physical pain was preferable to this, and he would accept it gladly. Welcome it, even.

_/father.../_

_... a green meadow among sparse houses, a horse grazing peacefully and a sweet scent in the air. Just sit and watch the birds fly above. Look away. Look back and the sky has darkened, though the birds still sing cheerfully. Sit and wait and wait for something-_

The sky turns bruise-purple and is shot through with the crimson of blood. Look up, afraid. stand and run away along the dying grasses, running towards-

A house. An ordinary blue house with white trim and a red fence and a dog out front. Run inside for safety, and it won't help but it's done anyway. Peek out the window and see-/

Rock woke with a start, gasping for air and eyes wide open. He stared wildly at his surroundings, reassuring himself of his own reality.

_/just a dream just a dream it's not real-/_

Lying still in his starched hospital bed, trying to calm himself, Rock concentrated on holding the dream in his memory. The same dream he'd had every night since he woke in the hospital, unable to think for the drugging. It was slightly longer each time.

"A field and a house and a bruise-blood sky and running-"

_/but was it new grass or dead? What color was the house? why was I running?/_

"A dog, tied up outside the house-"

_/what kind of dog? what did the house look like?/_

"A house... blue and..."

_/and what? What color was it?/_

"And... it was..."

It was no use, like holding water in a sieve. The details trickled away, leaving only a maddeningly vague feeling of apprehension and fear. Rock stared, morose, at the sparse room. Nothing to see but a thin bluish blanket, a cheap chair and pale, dull, drab white walls.

_/why do I keep having the same dream, over and over?/_ he thought, _/why won't it leave me alone? And why.../_

_/And why does it seem so familiar?/_

Curling up into a tight ball, he tried to return to sleep. He buried his head in his knees and thought of home, comforting thoughts even if home was gone. Rock sifted through blurry memories of games played and happy moments, evading the more unpleasant parts. Still, he couldn't help the mental image of Duke Red in those last moments on the tower.

_/Father, when you said my name- Was your expression shock or disgust?/_

"Doctor Miyazaki?"

Doctor Miyazaki turned around. A short, plump man with sparse grey hair, he was in charge of the Psychiatric ward of the general hospital. It was rumored that he was really a very cheerful man, but no one had ever gotten close enough without being hit by his double-barreled glare to find out. He looked annoyed, as usual.

"What is it now?" he inquired peevishly. The hapless orderly, a tall young man named Simon, shifted nervously from foot to foot.

"I- uh- they're requesting you come to the recovery ward... one of the patients is a bit-"

"-crazy?" Interrupted Dr. Miyazaki, "Well, I'm too busy. As head of the psych ward I have a lot of work to do. Now go get someone else to do it."

The orderly was looking increasingly worried. "But- they want you personally- it's a very important case, and-"

Dr. Miyazaki cut him off again. "-Important, you say? Who's the patient?" He looked intrigued, and dollar signs lit up in his eyes.

"Duke Red..." began Simon, trailing off when the doctor hurried out. Simon watched him go. He sighed and leaned against the whitewashed wall, praying that he never, _ever_ drew the short straw again.

"Where are my children?! what have you done with them?!" shouted Duke Red, furious. He stormed about his hospital room, aided by crutches. Dr. Miyazaki ducked another projectile, this time a stethoscope someone had left lying around.

"My dear Duke Red," began Dr. Miyazaki soothingly, "We have done nothing with any children. You _have_ no children. You lived without family in the ziggurat." He winced as the Duke glared at him. Dr. Miyazaki may have been famous for his glare, but he was no match for Duke Red.

"Ziggurat? What kind of nonsense is that? but never mind. Of course I have children. Tima and Rock," he stated, sitting down on the bed, coldly furious. "I know I have children. I remember them. Tima is eleven, she likes playing in the park with her brother, Rock, who is nine. He likes wearing red and has curly brown hair. Don't try to convince me I have no children." Duke Red looked so forbidding that the doctor took a step back.

"What I _meant_ to say," the doctor backtracked, "Is that you no _longer_ have children. Tima..." he paused. "Tima died a long time ago. Nearly seven years. I hate to have to tell you this-" He broke off. Duke Red wore an expression of total shock, and there was a deeper, underlying despair.

"And- Rock...?" asked the Duke uncertainly, unsure whether he wanted that question answered. "What about Rock?"

"You- never had a son, Duke Red." responded the doctor, and Duke Red looked furious. "The only boy I can think of named Rock was the leader of the Marduks, and he's about sixteen... unless..." the doctor looked down, cupping his chin in one large hand. "wait, how old did you say Rock was? Nine? let's see, seven years from when Tima... hmm, yes... it could be... yes, he would be about that age now..."

The doctor looked back up. Duke Red was staring blankly off into space, then turned toward him. He looked lost. "What were we talking about?" Duke Red inquired, unsure. "I seem to have forgotten..."

Doctor Miyazaki frowned. "I was just saying that the boy over in room 1225 seems to be the former marduk leader Rock. You could always check to see if he is indeed the boy you're looking for-"

The Duke looked calculating for a moment, then smiled. It was an unpleasant smile. "Why certainly, ask him to visit. I'm not too mobile, you see." He gestured at his crutches. "Bring him here. I would like very much to speak with him. Now go."

Miyazaki scuttled out fairly quickly for an overweight man, then stuck his head back inside. _/just to be sure.../ _"Regrettable about the Ziggurat, yes?"

Duke Red frowned. "Yes, very. Goodbye."

Doctor Miyazaki left, mulling over what he had heard. The man didn't even know what the ziggurat was at the beginning, but did at the end. He seemed to be slipping back and forth, into and out of the past. He had a diagnosis.

Duke Red was losing his mind. Or he had hit his head. one of the two. Miyazaki quickly picked which would earn him the thanks and money of the Duke, and went to give his diagnosis to the record department.


	3. Family

Author notes: you know the drill. I don't own Metropolis. And I don't own any characters, but I want to own Rock. Rock's great. However, I own this story, this plot and a Rock shrine. Oh yeah. Go me.**

After the Fall of Angels  
Chapter 3

**   
  
_Daddy don't leave   
Daddy don't leave  
Daddy don't leave   
Turn around please   
Remember that the night you left you took my  
shining star?   
Daddy don't leave   
Daddy don't leave   
Daddy don't leave   
Don't leave us here alone  
  
-Pink- Family Portrait_

Duke Red, one of the most influential men in the former city, behind-the-scenes politician, had always had a sharp mind. He honed it on the egos and opinions of others, puncturing pride like a needle through soap bubbles. He also had the rare ability of manipulation, the ability to mold people like clay in his hands. It was an uncommon person that resisted being bent to his will, but with enough time, even the unwilling could be twisted into dependance. _/Like Rock,/ _he thought to himself,_ /that boy could barely survive a few days without me. He's completely devoted./ _

Duke Red did, of course, feel a slight amount of guilt at what he had put the boy through, but it was disregarded and relegated to the back of his mind. It did not do to dwell on the misfortune of others. There were more important things to accomplish, such as rebuilding his dictatorship over Metropolis. Duke Red had been planning and plotting for some time, creating plans and ideas, schemes and brainstorms. However, each plan had one fatal roadblock.

Himself.

He was in the hospital, unable to reach the larger population. And even so, who would want an invalid as their leader? He would be able to seize control once he had healed, but Duke Red was not a stupid man. He knew he was blanking out large swatches of time, coming back to reality in other rooms or in different places. The city must be taken, and in his mind, the sooner the better. Before his-_affliction_-was common knowledge.

_That_ was where Rock came into the picture.

The boy, though still largely useless, was young and strong. Only a little past sixteen, he could easily represent the Duke. With Duke Red's reflected "heroism", carefully worded speeches and pre-planned acts of generosity and aid, it would be simple. Effortless, even. The masses would trust him, and the trust would be transferred to Duke Red himself. The Duke was quite proud to have thought it up. It had only one flaw, and it was easily remedied.

Rock.

He would have to be convinced, as an unwilling person was of no help to Duke Red. The Duke allowed himself a brief moment of regret at his own actions toward the boy, but they were quickly squashed. _/Rock WILL help me,/ _he thought to himself,_ /he has no choice. And I have the perfect way to seize his cooperation./_

_...The bruised sky is crimson-blue and the yellowed grass is crunching underfoot, for there has been no rain in months. All that can be seen for miles is the expanse of dead plants and blood sky. The house is there, standing near, the dog running free and snapping at insects, but-_

where-

where is-

-buzzing fills the air, look up and see a thing, metal and harsh light falling, the whine gets louder and louder andlouderandlouderand-

Wake up-

Rock had been brooding alone in his small room for nearly a day. Nurses and doctors alike were rebuffed, and he just wanted to be left alone. Lying on his back, he stared up at a long crack in the ceiling. He imagined that he could see out, into the world outside, perhaps to the sky. But it didn't matter.

Nothing mattered.

Rock knew Duke Red would never forgive him for the destruction of the Ziggurat, and so could never hope to be called son again. He lay morosely, not even shifting when yet another orderly came in to disturb him.

The orderly shifted from foot to foot as Rock didn't make the slightest motion of surprise or greeting. "Er..." he began, "hello, Rock, is it? My name's Simon. I-"

"Go away," growled Rock, not bothering to make eye contact, "why won't you people just leave me alone?" Simon blinked, surprised at his vehemence.

"Well," began Simon, "we're just trying to help. I was sent in to..." Simon grinned lopsidedly, "cheer you up a bit, I guess." Rock turned and stared at him disbelievingly for a moment.

"Cheer me up?" he stated, incredulous. "Do you even have the slightest idea of what's bothering me? The vaguest idea?"

Simon looked blank.

Rock looked back at the ceiling. "I didn't think so."

Simon cocked his head to the side, leaning forward. "Does it have something to do with your father?"

Rock sat up slowly, looking angry. More than angry.

"What," stated Rock, his voice cold and furious, "do you think you know about my father? Do you think that it's some loving family that will just accept me back after all I've done!?" Rock's voice rose until he was fairly screaming at Simon, who was stepping backwards, unprepared for Rock's verbal barrage.

"Do you think I deserve to be welcomed back? Do you think I ever did? Do you think he will _ever_ forgive me? Because he _won't!_ I don't deserve forgiveness!" Tears were winding down Rock's face as he cried out the last few words. He looked at Simon a moment, then turned away. Drawing his knees up to his chest, Rock wrapped his arms around them and buried his head in his knees, muttering something unintelligible.

Simon stood, stunned, by the closed door. He took a few steps towards Rock, unsure of what to do and listening to Rock's quiet sobs. He left one hand on the bed frame, resting the other uncertainly on Rock's shoulder.

Rock didn't seem to notice.

Simon tried a weak grin. "Hey... you okay?" he asked carefully, not wanting to be screamed at again. "Anything I can do?" He leaned close to Rock to hear the answer, almost lost in folds of cloth. His unruly blond hair brushed the side of Rock's face.

Rock raised his head slightly, looking down at the bland sheets. "He won't forgive me," stated Rock with quiet certainty, "I know he won't. I've done too much wrong. He'll never..." He trailed off, sighing slightly. "I can't be forgiven. Not for what I've done. Not ever."

Simon looked concerned. "But- that's not true!" he exclaimed, "your father, Duke Red- he's been asking for you to come see him. It's hard for him to get around now, so-" Rock cut him off.

"He asked about me? He- he really did?" Rock's face broke into a radiant smile. "You aren't just trying to make me feel better? Can I go see him now?" Rock looked so eager that Simon couldn't say no.

Rock levered himself out of bed, using the frame as support. He could stand on his own, but his sense of balance had not yet returned. Rock felt his knees begin to collapse. Simon caught him, put an arm around him and held him up before he fell. They made their way down the hall like that, Rock clinging to him on unsteady legs.

_/Why,/_ mused Simon, _/do I always pick the short straw? Am I just completely unlucky, or is it-/_ he recalled Alice twisting her hands oddly as he picked a straw.

Simon frowned. Rigged. He just knew it.

Damn.

It had been interesting at first, but Duke Red was tiring of the hospital staff's attentions. It had come to a point where he wasn't left alone for more than five minutes, and he was ready to consider killing someone.

_/Useless incompetents,/_ reflected Duke Red, regarding the city through the rather large window adorning one wall. _/if I employed them, they would all have been fired yesterday. Especially that overbearing, kowtowing, vapid excuse for a nurse-/_

"Oh, Duke Reed!"

Duke Red winced.

Carefully schooling his aristocratic features into his usual facade, he turned to see the newcomer. _/Well, speak of the devil.../_

"Hello," said Duke Red neutrally, disguising his annoyance. "Erika, is it not?"

"Oh, it _is_!" the short, brown-haired nurse gushed, her braid flying, quite obviously enamored of the Duke. "I came to check up on you! After all, you might need something at any moment. I should come to see you as often as I can! You might _need_ me!" She waited for Duke Red to respond, gazing at him adoringly with moist blue eyes.

Duke Red looked about for an escape route. Finding nothing, he tried to find a way to rid himself of this- woman. "So," he said slowly, "Erika... how are you this fine day?"

"Wonderful!" she simpered. "It's always a beautiful day when I get to attend such _handsome_ patients. All the other nurses are jealous of me- my patients are simply the _best_." She fluttered her eyelashes at Duke Red, who was beginning to wish he'd died in the ziggurat collapse. "But I should be the one asking you questions, silly!" she looked at him suggestively. "Do you need a sponge bath?"

Duke Red choked and couldn't hold back his look of horror. He decided to move quickly. "Did you hear that?" he asked, glancing off into mid-air, "they've just called you to intensive care. You should get down there."

"But I didn't-" began Erika. Duke Red cut her off, spinning her around and fairly pushing her out the door.

"You'll have to hurry, don't want to keep them waiting!" said Duke Red, smiling. "I'll see you again soon. Goodbye!" And he shut the door in her face.

He turned and leaned against the door, running one hand through his blonde hair. _/Ye gods,/_ he thought, _/that woman should be dropped off a building... preferably a tall one. Why-/_ His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door at his back. Duke Red groaned, preparing for another onslaught of Erika.

He opened the door, sure he was going to regret it.

Rock stood there, clad in an ordinary hospital robe and supported by a familiar-looking young man. Rock looked up at him with a strange mixture of hope and desperation. Simon led him in, past Duke Red, leaving him standing next to a convenient chair Rock could grab for support. Simon looked from one to the other.

"I'll just leave you two alone then," he said, walking out and shutting the door behind him.

Rock looked down at his feet, as if afraid to meet the Duke's eyes, resting one hand on the top of the spindly wooden chair. Duke Red noticed he looked uncertain. Rock didn't move or speak, seeming to expect hatred and derision. The longer the Duke remained silent, the more Rock trembled.

Like a dog expecting to be whipped.

Duke Red watched him contemplatively, judging the best moment to strike. Just make the boy trust him, and the rest would come easily. So easily.

"Rock," he began, just the right amount of compassion in his voice, "it's good to see you again. I've missed you..." Rock didn't look comforted by this. In fact, he was trembling worse than ever. Duke Red spoke again, this time with a small amount of real concern. "Rock, are you all right? You're shaking..."

"I'm sorry!" Rock burst out, bringing his head up, "please, please forgive me for the things I've done, I've done so much wrong, and I- I've hurt you- It's all my fault, and I- just- I just want-" Rock trailed off, wrapping his arms around himself, tears trickling slowly down his face, and continued softly, "I just want to be forgiven, but..."

Duke Red was mystified. This wasn't going quite as planned. "But... what? Why can't you be forgiven?" he asked, hoping for a quick resolution. Rock said something so quietly Duke Red couldn't make it out. "What did you say?"

Rock swallowed, making no attempt to dry his eyes and again looking fixedly at the floor. "I... don't deserve it." he repeated. "You shouldn't forgive me, I'm nothing, I'm no one next to you," said Rock miserably. "I can't- I can't do this anymore..."

Duke Red was tiring of Rock's juvenile display of emotion."Rock, listen to me," he said, getting his attention. "You are not nothing," _/you're worse/_ "those last few moments on the Ziggurat, you saved my life. I forgive you... my son."

Rock smiled slowly, unaccustomed to happiness. Wiping away his tears on a sleeve, he looked truly hopeful for the first time. Duke Red opened his arms, and Rock ran to him, stumbling only slightly, burying his head in the Duke's shoulder like a child. Rock clung to him as if the world would end.

Duke Red hadn't called him son or touched him save to hit him in six years.

Duke Red allowed himself one vicious smirk behind Rock's back. Rock always had been easy to manipulate.

The green-haired boy, almost shorter than the pile of machine parts in his arms, walked up to the cashier. Dumping the load onto the purchase desk, he went back for more. The cashier looked on in amazement that the diminutive boy could pay for, let alone carry such an amount of parts. when the boy came back to the counter for the last time, the cashier couldn't help asking just what he was _doing_ with such an abundance of things.

Kenichi smiled. "I'm building a robot."  



	4. Broken

No, I don't own Metropolis. 

In a dark room, deep in the bowels of zone one, the only light was bluish and flickering, the light of a television screen. One man watched it, the light reflecting off his dark eyes and making shadows of his face.

"Today, Duke Red walked out of the hospital alive and well." The pretty newscaster smiled, showing her perfect teeth. "Injured during the fall of the ziggurat, he has completely recovered. It turns out,"-here she fluttered her eyelashes at the camera- "that Duke Red may have been lucky to end up in the hospital- While in their care, he was reunited with his son Rock, former leader of the Marduk party. They will be living at the Skyway apartments, near to the city center. It is truly an auspicious new beginning for the city. In other news-"

Click.

The television was turned off, and the room was black as ink save for the faint glow creeping in the boarded window.

The man sat back in the darkness, leaning into his beaten old chair. Slowly, he began to smile, until it stretched across his face in a vicious smirk that Duke Red himself couldn't have matched.  
  
**

After the Fall of Angels  
Chapter 4

**   
  
_ Are you cut up?  
Or do you easily forget?  
Are you still around?  
Why haven't you managed to die yet?  
You could pry  
Up the bar  
in hell  
How can you breathe?  
Why don't you cry?  
How come you never ask me why?  
I thought you'd leave me falling forever...  
  
Karma Killer- Robbie Williams_

It had been nearly a month since Duke Red had been released from the hospital. He had had none of his amnesia-like episodes recently, and was on the verge of forgetting all about them.

Though his money had mostly gone down with the ziggurat, he had enough saved away enough to live comfortably. With his ever-present air of benevolence and the hero-worship that still clung to him, Duke Red had managed to get his hands on a large suite in one of the few apartment buildings left standing. With two floors in the suite it was nearly as big as a house, and cost nearly as much per month. It had been amazingly easy to occupy the place, and Duke Red quietly commended himself on his ever-present influence. He reflected on the art adorning his walls, and, in pride of place, a nearly life-size portrait of himself he'd had done. His reflections were rudely interrupted by the light scrape-click of Rock's key in the lock.

_/Irritating boy./_ he thought. _/He was supposed to be back nearly an hour ago. Probably saw some stupid girl and got distracted./_ As Rock had stopped being useful to him the day Duke Red walked out of the hospital, he briefly debated getting rid of him in an "accident" but decided against it. It was too risky to his reputation, and he was strangely reluctant to do it.

_/He does have his uses,/_ he concluded, _/however small they may be. He must be tolerated./_

Duke Red didn't wait for Rock to open the door, but strode over and pulled it open. Rock stood there, looking slightly foolish and out of breath with two large paper bags and one hand extended to grasp the doorknob.

"Where have you been?" began Duke Red, wasting no time. "You are late," he looked at Rock severely, who was shifting from side to side, trying to get inside, "why, exactly?"

Rock was trying to edge around Duke Red. "Can I just put these down first, please? They're heavy..." he said, lifting the bags slightly. Duke Red stood aside, leaving Rock free to walk to a low antique table and finally let go of the heavy load. He watched in annoyance as Rock didn't answer right away, but took the time to brush the paper fragments off his grey turtleneck, then off brown pants for once not tucked into heavy boots. Duke Red's irritation grew as Rock seemed to ignore him.

"So," said Duke Red conversationally, "what do you have in those bags? Your usual things, guns and explosives? You always were far too violent. It's really no longer appropriate." Rock paused and looked at him strangely, halfway through the process of removing his shoes.

"Er..." said Rock, lifting a packet of instant noodles from one bag. "Food. That's what you sent me out for, isn't it?" He put the noodles back in the bag, next to cans and boxes. "Should probably put these away..." he muttered, hoisting the bags once again, walking to the kitchen with only a small sidelong glance sneaked at his father. Duke Red followed him.

"You haven't answered me yet," stated Duke Red. "Why were you gone so long?" He waited impatiently while Rock stocked the barren cupboards and fridge. The Duke noted that Rock seemed to be stalling. He continued to stock the shelves, thinking over an answer, or perhaps thinking up a way not to answer. Duke Red was just about to ask again when-

"I met someone today," Rock began, glancing over his shoulder at the duke, then concentrating on the white cupboards and bluish wallpaper. "Down at that grocery... The one by the Paradise casino."

Duke Red looked annoyed. "No wonder you took so long," he frowned, "that place is nearly across the city! Why didn't you just go to the one by the escalators to Zone One? It's much closer." Duke Red crossed his arms over the immaculate suit that strangely, he wore even when at home.

Rock blushed slightly. "Well- that is- it's in zone one," he stammered, "and as I'm a Marduk-" he paused, raking a hand through unruly brown hair, "or was, anyway, they don't like me much. The upper city doesn't seem to mind Marduks, though..." Rock trailed off, his hand holding a can halfway to the shelf. "But anyway, I met someone at the grocery. Name's Aaron. Used to be one of my Marduks. You might remember him."

Duke Red vaguely recalled a boy of about Rock's age who constantly had hair covering one eye. He frowned. "Your second in command, wasn't he?" _/And even more incompetent than you are./_

Rock smiled slightly, oblivious. "Yes, my right-hand man, I suppose. He was always a friend of mine, right from the first day of training. So, I was wondering..." he hesitated, "uh..."

Rock stared at Duke Red, who had a faraway look on his face and faintly glazed eyes. "Dad? Hello?" he waved his hands in front of Duke Red's face. "Are you listening to me?"

Duke Red jerked his head and snapped out of it, shaking his head from side to side. "Sorry," he smiled, "I guess I got distracted for a moment. What was that you said?"

Rock cocked his head to the side, looking at him strangely. "I was just talking about Aaron... Anyway," said Rock, getting back into the conversation, "I was wondering if you'd let us go and do something sometime." Rock grinned, waiting for an answer from Duke Red, who was frowning again.

"I don't know," replied Duke Red, sitting down on a white wooden chair, "how long have you known him?" Rock tilted his head to the side.

"About six years, I'd guess," shrugged Rock, "but what does that have to do with it?"

"And how long," continued Duke Red, not answering Rock, "were you going to hide this from me?"

Rock stopped and stared hard at Duke Red. _/What?/ _

Duke Red continued, unimpeded by Rock's confusion. "Really, you should have just told me. Now-" he said quickly, cutting Rock off before he could get a word in edgewise, "how long has this been going on?" Duke Red gave Rock a concerned, fatherly look. Rock was silently staring at the Duke, a completely befuddled expression on his face.

_/What the hell is he going on about? How long has what been going on?/_ thought Rock, but all he said aloud was "What are you _talking_ about, Dad?"

Duke Red looked slightly angry. "You know very well what I'm talking about!" said Duke Red, "I really don't think this is appropriate, Tima. Having boyfriends behind my back. This Aaron character-"

Rock paled and bolted, skidding on the hall carpet and slamming his room's door. He fumbled with the lock for a moment, then clicked it into place. Duke Red followed not far behind. He could hear Duke Red outside, pleading to come in, to help his little girl. Rock hunched against the door, burying his head in his hands. _/This can't be happening, it can't, it can't, it can't-/_

"Tima!" called Duke Red. "Are you all right? What's wrong? Can I help?"

Rock shuddered, pressing his face deeper into his hands to shut out the world. "Go away!" he screamed, "just- just leave me alone! Don't talk to me!"

Duke Red started at his panic. "But Tima-" he began, at a loss, "please, tell me-"

"GO AWAY!" screamed Rock, a small sob escaping with the words. "Just GO! NOW!"

Out in the hall, Duke Red hesitated while walking back to the kitchen, looking back often. He was so worried about his little angel, getting involved with strange boys and who knew what else. He really should go back and have a talk with her... But she seemed almost- _afraid_- He paused a moment, indecisive, then sat on the same spindly kitchen chair as before.

Staring off into space for a few moments, a glazed look came into his eyes. He blinked and looked around, spotting the half-put away groceries all over. _/Honestly,/_ he thought to himself, _/can't that lazy, useless boy finish one chore?/_

Rock sat still, back to the door and head in his hands, perfectly silent and unmoving. He stared straight ahead, eyes blank.

The shock of Duke Red's words... Had he truly thought he was his beloved daughter? Tima, who had died so long ago? How could he think that? How was it even possible?

_/Is he crazy?/_ Rock thought to himself, through a fog of shock, _/is he completely insane? Or-/ _a small, hiccuping laugh escaped him,_ /Am I crazy? I can't think... What's wrong with me? And that last bit about Aaron- It's so- just so-/_

He shook his head and brushed the bangs out of his eyes, only to have them fall back down. For some reason, the small action struck him as absurdly funny. His laugh grew, a desperate sound tinged with insanity. Rock threw his head back against the heavy oak door, unable to stop. He laughed until his ribs ached and his vision blurred, only stopping when he could barely draw in breath. Panting, Rock put his hands to his face, palm-heels covering his eyes. "How- how can this happen?" he whispered between gasps, "It can't be real, I must be dreaming... My father's not crazy. He loves me, he'd never- he can't- he can't be crazy, I'll just go to bed, and then I'll wake up and everything will be fine- everything will be fine..."

Rock stood slowly, wavering and eyes unfocused, repeating his mantra. He trailed one hand along the wall, going towards the plain, white-sheeted bed in one corner. Flopping down bonelessly, he closed his eyes and collapsed almost immediately into unconsciousness.

_...He turned around slowly. Fields and sky in all directions, one house, no people anywhere._

This_ dream again. He waited for the familiar compulsion to begin, but nothing happened._

Noticing he was more in control this time and able to choose his direction, Rock was free to explore the dreamscape. But here, unlike the other dreams... There was nothing. No dog, no insects, no anything. Nothing but crunching yellow grasses and the unnaturally colored sky. For lack of anything better to do, Rock started towards the blue-white house, the only sound the crackle of dead plants.

Easing the door open with a creak, Rock peered around the frame and saw no one. Only a perfectly empty room. Opening the door all the way he stepped into the dust, calling out a greeting. Not a thing stirred, no echo returned to him. The room was large, square, and utterly bare save for faded curtains over cracked windows and a rickety staircase in one corner.

Making deep footprints in the dust, he made the tour of the room. Exactly like outside, there was nothing. Absolutely nothing. Rock sighed, beginning to become bored with the dream. Perhaps there was something upstairs? Something he was supposed to find on his own? /Or maybe,/_ thought Rock,_ /my subconscious just likes screwing with me?/__

Rock cocked his head to the left and looked up at rickety steps, most of which looked distinctly untrustworthy. Gingerly, he tried putting his weight on the first step, then the next, which let out a protesting groan, then the next-

Rock stumbled as he felt the step wobble, immediately putting as much weight as possible on the bare wall behind and inching upwards. The stairs creaked and swayed, with Rock constantly reminding himself he was dreaming and a fall couldn't possibly hurt but not believing it. He had made it halfway up when a step collapsed, sending him sprawling across the banister which disintegrated as well and the whole house began to fall apart as he plummeted towards the floor-

And the house faded from view as he was caught by strong arms.

Rock looked up, but caught only a glimpse of brown eyes and brown hair before that too faded and he fell into nothing.  


The blue-patterned kitchen was lit by yellowed fluorescence and faint blue shadows from outside. Duke Red wandered around, occasionally putting away the odd grocery and muttering about menial labor being beneath him, his heart not really in it. Every so often he would get the idea of Rock putting them away, but every time he did he felt an unexplainable aversion to Rock's room. Putting it down to an aversion to the boy himself, Duke Red was quick to ignore it as he ignored anything to do with Rock.

At times, Duke Red felt almost regretful for using the boy so- he often caught himself thinking that it would have been nice to have had a son. It was at those times he reminded himself of the things Rock had done in his short life, and the familiar disdain was back in place. He had adopted Rock for security, not for affection. Duke Red frowned as he remembered that day, even if he had allowed himself to get attached once, it wasn't going to happen again.   
  


In the dim twilight, Duke Red strode toward the sergeant, stopping directly in front of him. The sergeant saluted smartly, greeting him, something he would not normally have done for anyone. Duke Red did not waste time on pleasantries.

"So," he said crisply, "I heard you had a- prospect- for me?" Duke Red glanced at his watch, impatient.

"Of course," said the sergeant, "follow me." And he walked off toward a dingy prison complex, the Duke following behind. They stepped inside, and Duke Red brushed nonexistent dirt from his jacket, avoiding a puddle of muddy water on the floor. The sergeant locked the door behind them and led him down the hall.

"So," said Duke Red as they walked past small, dirty cells containing murderers, psychopaths and who knew what else, "tell me about this new prospect. How old? What's his mental state? The first two you found were useless."

The sergeant, nearly a foot taller and several feet wider than Duke Red, gulped.

"This one's perfect," he said quickly, nervously plucking at his sleeve, "he's seven, so just a bit younger than you specified. As for his mental state- well, you can see that for yourself. By the way, though," he paused, hesitant, "what do you want him for?"

Duke Red scowled. "A bodyguard for my daughter." he scowled. The sergeant didn't dare ask him to elaborate.

The sergeant stopped outside a barred door with no window, pulling a key from his pocket. Duke Red looked at him harshly. The sergeant shrugged. "He's really very passive. We didn't have any open cells left." And the door swung open.

Duke Red stepped inside, at first thinking the cell empty. Then he saw the huddled shape in the corner. He looked closer, seeing a shivering boy wrapped in a ragged gray blanket, curly hair tangled and matted. He didn't seem to see his two visitors.

The Duke swung around to the sergeant. "I will admit," he said, "that he seems very close to my specifications. However, he is far too passive. I think you need to be replaced."

The sergeant paled. "No, no sir!" he stammered, "he really is perfect! He was quite aggressive before, not docile at all! Why, he managed to kill the two privates sent to catch him!" The sergeant waited anxiously. "Do I keep my job?" he asked tentatively. Duke Red looked thoughtful.

"That is an accomplishment, I suppose..." he trailed off, watching the boy's alternately dull and unnaturally bright eyes. "How did he kill them? And how did he get like-" Duke Red gestured at the oblivious boy- "this?"

The sergeant suddenly became nervous. "Well- he killed them with- you'll never believe it-" Duke Red interrupted.

"Get on with it," he snapped.

The sergeant looked miserable and muttered something. Duke Red stared at him expectantly and the poor man looked exceedingly uncomfortable. "Glass," he repeated, "a shard he'd picked up somewhere. But-" said the sergeant, quickly changing to a more favorable subject, "the reason he's like that is thanks to our department's superb interrogational skill. They really are very efficient."

Duke Red glanced back at the huddled, pathetic figure. He nodded. "Clearly." Duke Red turned from the highly nervous man to inspect the boy. He crouched down, not willing to dirty his clothes on the filthy cell floor. The Duke put his hand under the boy's chin, tilting his head first one way, then the other. He stood, and commented on the boy. "He seems adequate, or close enough," he remarked. "Have someone come to bring him out. He doesn't look like he could-"

"Have you come to free me?" asked a childishly serious voice, "Or have you come to hurt me?"

Duke Red whirled around, looking hard at the small figure under tattered fabric. He regarded the boy for a long moment. "I'm taking you home with me. Adoption, I suppose you could say." he stated. The boy frowned, then smiled.

"I never had a father before."

Duke Red watched him impassively. /and you still don't./  


The air was cold, the sky dull metal and long-broken glass, the ground long dead, the residents broken and ragged.

Kenichi was in zone one, down past the rickety houses and ailing buildings propped up on nothing more than rotting struts and wishes, among the broken hopes of a civilization beginning to pick up the pieces. Kenichi stayed in a warehouse, an old, empty one that the owner had let him have no questions asked as long as he got money.

He had managed to find most of Tima's inner framework, and what he couldn't find he'd had custom built from the plans in Doctor Laughton's little red book. He felt badly, leaving the repairs and reassembling to people who didn't know her, but what could he have done? He had neither the tools nor the technical expertise to build something so complex. However, he left the last step for himself. He wanted to be the only one there to see Tima come alive.

Well, he amended, after glancing over his shoulder, other than Fifi, of course.

Kenichi leaned close to Tima, turning her head to expose the jump-start point, holding a cable just a bit away.

"Okay, Fifi!" he called, "turn on the electricity!" The tall sweeper robot obliged, reaching out with unnaturally long arms and flipping a switch. Kenichi felt the cable jerk and spark in his hand. He brought it close to the point, careful not to touch it-

A spark leapt into the point, then another and another. Tima's eyes shifted hues, and her hand twitched spasmodically. Kenichi pulled the cable away. Fifi turned the electricity off, but Kenichi was too entranced with the awakening to notice. Tima sat up straight with a sound of mechanics beginning to move, and turned to face Kenichi.

"I-" he smiled, overjoyed, "I'm Kenichi, remember?" Tima tilted her head, as if remembering.

"Ken-ichi." she said, repeating him. "Kenichi. Kenichi. You are Kenichi."

His radiant smile faded slightly. "And you- you're Tima. Right?" Tima looked at him without emotion.

"Awaiting command," she said, expressionless. Kenichi started.

"What?"

"Awaiting command."

_/No.../_ thought Kenichi, _/she must be playing a game, something- anything but this-/_ "What do you remember?" he asked her gently. She blinked slowly.

"I have no memory banks."

Kenichi sank to the floor in despair. Nothing.

Everything he did was worth _nothing_.

Rock sat up slowly, yawning and rubbing one eye with the back of a hand. Looking around confused at the faint light seeping in a small window, he wondered how long he'd been asleep and why he was even in bed at- he looked at his watch- 7:45 PM? And completely dressed? Rock shook his head to clear it, trying to remember why he'd gone to bed in the first place, but not having much luck. All he could recall was talking to his father, then a blurry dream. Speaking of the dream- It had been different this time. It was already beginning to fade around the edges, but the startling image of brown eyes was clear as day.

But- he thought to himself, getting up- dreams were still only dreams. Not real.

Never real.

He opened his door soundlessly and strode to the kitchen, hearing someone inside. Rock peered around the corner, blushing slightly when he saw his father putting away the groceries himself. It really wasn't right that a man of his status should have to do such work, and Rock was embarrassed to see his job being done by someone so much better than himself.

Deep in his thoughts, Duke Red did not hear Rock approach.

"Father?" queried Rock, stepping out from behind the wall. Duke Red spun in surprise, nearly dropping a can of tomato soup on his toes. He frowned impatiently at Rock.

"Yes?" inquired Duke Red with an air of long suffering, "what is it?" Rock smiled, blind to his father's annoyance. He walked closer. Duke Red raised an eyebrow expectantly. "_What is it?_" he said coldly.

Rock flinched, dropping his eyes to the floor. "N-nothing, father." said Rock softly. "Nothing at all."  
  



	5. Sleepwalker

Author's notes: Well, you probably know I don't own Metropolis by now.   
  
**

After the Fall of Angels  
Chapter 5

**  
  
_From childhood's hour I have not been  
As others were; I have not seen  
As others saw; I could not bring  
My passions from a common spring.  
From the same source I have not taken  
My sorrow; I could not awaken  
My heart to joy at the same tone;  
And all I loved, I loved alone.  
  
-Demon in my view, Edgar Allan Poe  
_

All through the city, birds were building nests, the sun was shining and the citizens were generally cheerful. It was a happy, joyful sort of day that didn't come often to the city of Metropolis, more favorable toward the countryside. Stalls on the street corners seemed to grow out of nothing, lively crowds bustled and jostled through the busy marketplace, and the whole city seemed alive in a way it never had before. And so, of course, it could only result in one thing.

Rock was bored.

He sprawled alone over a rather ugly green couch (one of those horrible things prized by the very rich and shunned by anyone else with eyes), the radio playing some music far too cheerfully. Not thinking of anything in particular, he stared up at the ceiling, his hands playing idly with the edges of a book. He rolled the cover first one way then the other, creasing the unmarred cardboard.

Completely alone in the apartment with Duke Red off at some official opening or other (Rock had initially been invited to these, but found the speeches so mind-numbingly boring that he would rather stay home. Now he almost regretted it. The operative word being "almost".) Rock had quickly found that it wasn't built for amusement. The only purpose it served was to be elegant. It seemed that Duke Red was opposed to the idea of television for entertainment, as the large screen dominating one wall received only educational and news channels. Every book on the shelves was either some form of textbook, manual or politically-dominated fiction. Needless to say, Rock quickly gave up on them, leaving him nothing to occupy his time. He had tried everything from cooking (well, accidental burning, really) to writing a story on Duke Red's ancient old computer before ending up here. Bored nearly to sleep, he was beginning to doze off when he heard a slight creak sound like a gunshot in the silence.

Rock jumped to his feet, instantly alert. The book tumbled from his lap. Seeing nothing after a quick scan of the room, he wasn't reassured. Still very much the paranoid enforcer, he crept toward the kitchen where the sound had originated. Easing himself in, he observed every detail, every corner and possibility. He made the full tour of the room before being satisfied. Nothing under the table, counters or chairs- nothing at all. Rock shook his head, annoyed with his soldier instincts for waking him up. Still, he couldn't dispel the feeling of eyes following him out of the room.

Back by the couch, he spied his book (now looking sadly abused, face-down on the hardwood floor) and knelt to pick it up, flipping it over to read the title, 1984. He stared, blinked, then chuckled slightly, appreciating the irony. Big brother is watching.

Standing up with the book and realizing what bad shape it was in, Rock quickly tucked it into a nearby bookcase, hoping the tattered and bent edges would go unnoticed. It was a tight fit, and the cover caught on a splinter. Rock winced at the sound of rending paper. The book was quickly removed, and the tattered cover was worse off then ever. It now sported a long gash, all in all looking as if it had been put in a blender. His father was not going to be happy about this.

Shaking his head exasperatedly, he tried to think of where the Duke would never look, where the book could be safely hidden. He turned, wondering, then it came to him. The drawers in his father's bedroom! They were kept purely for show, never opened. The only things inside were never-needed extra sheets. It was perfect! He turned, grinned and walked quickly out of the living room, turned left twice and came to Duke Red's door at the end of the hall. Painted a deep crimson and spotted with patches of golden sunlight, it was weirdly intimidating. Rock reached out to grasp the handle, but pulled back. He didn't fancy going into that room. It wasn't forbidden, no, but it felt like such an- invasion of his father's personal space. _/But surely,/_ he thought worriedly, _/he won't mind? I'm his son, I don't need to be so wary.../ _

It was then he remembered just why he was going in, and had the grace to be embarrassed with himself. Telling himself firmly that destroying one of his father's books was no worse than wandering about his room, he again put his hand on the knob. The door seemed to mock his indecision, bearing the same color as Duke Red's clothes. Rock glared at his troublesome inner voice, steeled himself for anything, twisted the handle and-

The door creaked open, revealing a throughly ordinary, if decadent room. Crimson walls to match the door, king-size bed (unmade. Without a cleaning staff, Duke Red seemed a bit helpless), door leading off to a private bathroom, and a chest of drawers.

Rock smiled. Good, now he needn't be in here much longer. Hurrying over, Rock knelt down and slid a bottom drawer open. Putting the flayed book down by his side, Rock burrowed through white layers of cotton, flannel and some unidentifiable material before his fingers hit the hard wooden base. He lifted out one pile of thick sheets, intending to hide the ragged book there.

He paused and stared. Blinking, he looked down into the drawer. Revealed by the absent pile was not a drawer bottom, but a heavy, leather-bound book. Rock narrowed his eyes and cursed. The hiding place had already been used! By his _father_, no less!

Sitting back on his haunches, he pondered the problem. There simply were no other good hiding places. Glancing down at the broken book, he sighed and tucked it into his pocket. He'd figure out what to do with it later. But for now, he should get out of here and go back to... what exactly? He paused and thought. Complete boredom?

His gaze shifted back to the gaping drawer, and its mysterious contents. _/I really shouldn't-/ _Rock thought to himself,_ /but... It's his own fault for leaving me here with nothing to do, right?/_

Rock spared only one glance at the door before picking it up.

In zone one, a place that rarely saw any light beyond that of grease-coated lamps, the broken dome let in the yellow of sunlight. Crowds filled the streets, cheerfully jostling and bustling, vying for the best prices or just someone rich enough to make it worth their while to pickpocket. An air of carnival spread like a virus, leaving no one unaffected.

Almost no one.

Pushing through the thick crowds, Kenichi simply walked with no direction or intention. Tima trailed behind, eyes flat and dull, acting for all the world like a marionette with invisible strings. He didn't allow himself to think, just to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other. The two had been wandering for hours, Kenichi ignoring the stiffness in his legs and Tima just as complacently faithful as a dog. Deep in a numb fog of despair, Kenichi barely noticed as he walked into someone and was knocked to the ground. He gave a vague mutter of apology as the young man he'd collided with hoisted him to his feet, and Kenichi continued walking with the young man regarding him oddly until the crowd swallowed him up.

The man, about nineteen, scratched his head as he looked at the place where Kenichi had disappeared. Finally, he just shrugged his ragged, blue-clad shoulders and turned away, almost walking into a short blonde girl standing directly behind him.

"Sorry," he said, stepping away. She stared at him.

He stared back.

The girl didn't look away. The young man, beginning to be extremely unnerved by her unblinking gaze, shifted nervously. Tima followed, staring all the while.

"Er..." he said, "why are you staring at me?"

Tima didn't answer, but stepped forward and grabbed the front of his once-red shirt, never breaking eye contact.

"Boy! Boy!"

Kenichi started and turned toward the sound, shaken out of his cloud. The speaker was a little old man walking nearby.

"You left your sister back there, boy!" said the old man, "you should be more careful. Lucky I noticed, what with me walking beside you these past minutes! Your parents'll not be pleased, boy!"

He said these last words to thin air. Kenichi had plunged back into the sea of people, fired by a sense of unease.

"Look, kid..." the brown-haired young man said, trying to dislodge the girl's fisted hands from his shirt, "why don't you go find your brother to cling to?" His hands wrapped around hers, trying to unclench her fingers by force. They didn't bend an inch. "Jesus..." the young man swore softly, "You're strong. What're you made of, steel?"

She stared, expressionless. He laughed nervously, as her flat eyes did not leave his own.

"Seriously, kid," he said, eyed darting for an escape route, "get off me." He again tried to loosen her grip, to no avail. "Why don't you go find your father, hey?"

The young man smiled wanly, and Tima's face showed a spark of emotion.

For the first time since her revival, her green eyes narrowed and she spoke without prompting. "Don't- don't like father," she said, troubled by something she couldn't quite remember, "mean."

The young man tried to pull away. It didn't work. Tima stared at him some more, this time not dully, but as if analyzing every inch of him. She spoke slowly.

"Why- is it?" asked Tima, "why?"

"Tima! Tima!" cried Kenichi, running up to the two of them, "why didn't you follow me? I could have lost you! I-" here he turned to the young man- "I'm really sorry... She doesn't usually do things like this-"

The young man regarded him with an air of amusement. "That's all very well," he said, "but she's doing "things like this" now. Would you mind getting her off?" he gestured down at Tima's hands firmly attached to his shirt. "I can't seem to persuade her."

Kenichi nodded and turned to Tima. "Let go, Tima," he said gently, "You- you shouldn't just grab people-"

"Red," stated Tima.

Kenichi stopped mid-sentence. _/Sh- she spoke-/_ "What?"

"Red," she repeated, letting go of the faded fabric in her hands, "Red suit, red man." She moved her piercing gaze to Kenichi. "All Red!" she proclaimed, eyes wide, hands on his shoulders as if she was trying to convey something of the utmost importance. But as Kenichi watched, the glow faded from her eyes. Again, Tima looked only at the ground in a kind of bleary indifference.

Kenichi, his brief hope quashed, turned to the man who was just finishing up buttoning his blue overcoat, hiding the reddish shirt. "I- I'm really sorry," Kenichi apologized again, "she really doesn't usually do this sort of thing... Tima just- Reacted to something, I guess."

The man shook his head, his stubby brown ponytail wagging from side to side. "Don't worry about it, kid," he smiled, "worse things have happened." He shrugged and pulled a battered green cap from his side pocket, slipping it on. "I think it's- uh..." he stopped. Now the boy was staring at him. Was this whole _family_ crazy?

Kenichi stared at him, rapt. With that cap on he looked so much like- "A... Atlas?"

The man's eyes widened. "H- how do you know Atlas?" he stuttered, then was abruptly suspicious. "Are you a Marduk?"

Kenichi stared, openmouthed, unable to respond.

The man narrowed his eyes, "I had nothing to do with that! Leave me and my brothers out of it!" the man said, dropping into a fighting stance. "I'll fight you if I have to!" His eyes darted back and forth from one improbable enforcer to the other. Kenichi abruptly found his voice.

"I'm no Marduk!" he exclaimed, "I met Atlas just before the revolution! He helped m- mnfff!" Kenichi cried out indignantly, for the man had clamped a hand over Kenichi's mouth. "Mffnllff!"

The man leaned close to Kenichi, whispering in his ear. "Never," he whispered, "never talk about any sort of revolution here. Do you think Duke Red's spies aren't everywhere?"

Kenichi stared. _He_ didn't know. The man frowned. "Well they are. You should be more careful." He removed his hand from Kenichi's face, looking shifty. "Kid..." he said, glancing left and right, "If you really want to know about Atlas..." he trailed off.

Kenichi nodded. "I do."

The man looked up, then back down. He nodded too. "Follow me."

Rock sat in the center of an explosion of photographs, for that had been what the leather-bound book contained. Actually, not so much a book as a hollowed-out hiding place, but that wasn't important.

The pictures were- incredible.

He picked up first one, then the other, stared at them, and picked up more. He arranged them into piles. He spread them out in lines. He studied each one in detail, committing them to memory, as Rock knew he couldn't keep them all.

Grabbing one at random, Rock lifted it to his face and smiled gently, sadly. It was Tima.

Running in a park with a small dog behind, she and the dog both raced for something outside of the frame. Tima wore an exultant, childish grin as she ran, frozen in time, and the dog stuck in mid-air. Rock felt something between joy and misery as he looked, able to break contact only when he put one picture down to grab another. Shivering slightly, he dropped the snapshot. Automatically, Rock chose another from the hollowed book.

Rock stopped and stared, mystified, at the half-photo in his hand. It showed a black-clad chest and shoulders, just the barest bit of head and neck. There it ended, having been torn in half. He fished around for a few seconds, sorting through shots of Duke Red with Tima and Tima with a doll and Tima in summer until his hand brushed a ragged edge. Pulling it out, he set the two halves together. It was a snapshot of a boy.

Wondering, he stared, unable to figure out who the boy might be. Perhaps nine years of age, and wearing a black suit. The boy looked at the camera with such a sad expression, as if there was simply nothing left to live for, nothing in the world. There were two blurry figures in the background, and the boy bore a fading bruise on his cheek. Picking it up and bringing both halves close to his face, he gasped.

It was him.

Rock shivered again and let go. The pieces fluttered to the floor, and Rock stared at them until he heard a clock chime. Nine-

Wait. _Nine?_

Rock sat bolt upright, staring over at the window. It was completely dark. _/How long have I been sitting here?/_ he wondered, beginning to panic, _/I've got to put this stuff away-/ _

He leapt up, scattering photos left and right. Frantically, he stuffed them back into the book, praying his father stayed out just a bit longer. There were just a few left when his trembling hands gave out, scattering a handful across the floor and under the bed. Grabbing all the photos in sight, he crammed them into the book, snapped it shut and re-buried it in the drawer. Still worried, he looked around and saw a bright corner sticking out from underneath the bed. Rock crawled in, and seeing only two paper squares he grabbed both, put them in his pocket with the mutilated paperback and ran to the kitchen. He paused only to shut his father's door behind him.

Sliding into a kitchen chair, Rock tried valiantly to get his ragged breathing and wildly beating heart under control. The sixteen year-old put his hands down flat on the table, watching them shake. If his father had found him in that room- Rock shook his head. He didn't even want to think about it. Not at all. Sighing in relief, he put his head on the table and stayed still for a long time.

-Zone One-

The room was cramped and cluttered, but clean. Plain whitewashed walls held yellowed posters and odds and ends occupied the peeling linoleum floor, while ragged books, unidentifiable bits of metal and rolls of faded cloth sat on every shelf. In the center of the chaos sat a round, rough wooden table, around which were Kenichi and Tima. The young man they'd met on the street finished ladling soup into three shallow bowls, handed them out, and sat down himself.

Tima stared down at her soup, flat-eyed. Kenichi had trusted the young man so far because of his association with Atlas, but trust stretched only so far. He watched the young man with uncertainty, looking from him to the food. What if he'd put something in it? What if he was some crazy who lured children into his apartment and-

"What are you waiting for?" asked the brown-haired man, "for it to grow legs?"

Kenichi jumped, his train of thought interrupted. "Uh..."

"It's not much," the man shrugged, "but it _is_ edible. So go on!"

Kenichi watched him. "You shouldn't take food from strangers," he stated, "I know that much."

The young man rolled his eyes. "I'm eating it too. I wouldn't poison myself."

"But-" said Kenichi, still uncertain, "how do I know I can trust you? I don't know a thing about you! Not even your name!"

"It's Myth," he said, smiling wryly, "now eat."

Kenichi watched him carefully. "What's your full name?"

"Prometheus, all right?" he said, annoyed. "But call me that and I kill you. Now eat already!"

Kenichi narrowed his eyes. "One more question. How do you know Atlas?"

Myth smiled proudly. "He's my brother."

Kenichi blinked. "Really? You two don't look much alike. The only reason I thought you were him was your hair and that hat." He gestured to the ragged green cap still perched on Myth's head.

"Well, not really," he shrugged, "we sort of adopted each other in the street. We looked enough alike to make it work. but yeah, the hat's his." Myth fingered it affectionately. "Keeping a bit of him near me, you know? It's kinda nice."

Kenichi nodded, feeling sad. "I was there, you know."

Myth looked bewildered. "Where?"

"At the revolution. In the snow. I saw him die, right in front of me. There was nothing... Nothing I could do..." Kenichi wiped away a tear from his eye, bringing his voice back under control. "He was so nice to me... He hid me when the Marduks were after us- I'll always be grateful to him."

Myth smiled wanly. "You don't know? Atlas is still alive."

Kenichi's head snapped up, and he was radiant with happiness. "H-he is? Really? Can I see him? Can I talk to him?"

The young man's smile faded. "Well, you can see him- you can even talk to him, but... I'd guess you just have to see for yourself."

Myth stood, steadying the table with his hands. "Come on," he said in a low voice, beckoning to Kenichi, "this way." Myth picked his way through the clutter to a door on the far side of the room. Opening it, he gestured to Kenichi to take a look inside.

Atlas was there.

Asleep in a low bed, his hair out of its usual sections and spread in a cloud on the pillow, he looked far younger than Kenichi remembered him. Lying on his back, covered in patched sheets... Could this really be the vibrant revolutionary leader who'd upset a city? The same man who'd spoken out fearlessly against the Marduks?

"Atlas..?" queried Kenichi, watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest, "Atlas? Can you hear me?" He turned to Myth, whispering, not willing to break the silence. "Why doesn't he wake up?"

Myth said nothing, only slowly shook his head and watched his "brother" sleep.

Broken out of his reverie by his stomach growling, Rock realized he was hungry. Also thirsty. He'd been in that room far longer than he'd thought. Still on shaky legs, he stood up from the fancy kitchen table and fetched a plate and glass from the cupboard. Putting them on the table, he began hunting through the fridge. Rock pulled out a bowl of leftover chinese food and a carton of milk. Putting the bowl in the microwave, he opened and sniffed the milk, made a disgusted face and poured it down the sink. It was several days rotten. Neither himself nor Duke Red ate at home often, as neither could cook. Rock briefly wondered what had possessed him to buy milk in the first place.

Tossing the carton in the garbage, he looked through the fridge again. Nothing to drink but a bottle of beer. A half-empty one, at that, but he really didn't like water...

Rock glanced at the door, then down at his still-shaking hands. His father wouldn't be happy and he didn't ever _like_ beer, but it might quell the nervousness. He grabbed it and pulled off the rubber seal, put on to keep it from going flat, before he could change his mind.

Sitting back at the table, he drank deeply, grimacing at the bitter taste. Rock put the bottle down with hands that were slightly less nervous. Feeling calmer, he pulled the two stolen photos from his pocket and put them on the table. The first was the same shot of Tima running he'd been looking at before, and he tucked it affectionately back into his pocket. But the other... He'd never seen it before. It was ragged and stained, as if handled too many times with dirty fingers. It had bits missing from the edges, and one rip as if someone had slashed it viciously with a blade.

Rock shivered as he remembered the ripped photo in the room.

The main focus of the photo was still clear, however. Two boys, one five and smiling, the other seven and looking up. One with short hair, one with hair pulled back into sections. They stood together in a yellow-grass field, a blue-trimmed house in the background at sunset... and the slashing hole in the paper that ran from one's face to the other's neck.

Shiver.

The microwave beeped, and Rock heard it from a long way off, as if in his dream that was captured here on paper. He tucked the photo back into his pocket with the smiling face of Tima, but it was difficult... His hands, no longer shaking, seemed to have trouble finding the opening. With a vague sense of alarm, he realized that something was very wrong. One mouthful of beer couldn't do _this_, could it? The drink had to have been drugged-There had to have been something in... in something...

The world began to blur and fade around the edges, with Rock barely hanging on. He struggled to remember, to stay awake for a few moments more, but he was already too far gone. Eyes weighted with lead, he slumped forward.

His last coherent thought was of Tima's smiling face.  
  



	6. Lost

I don't own metropolis.  
  
**

After the Fall of Angels  
Chapter 6

**  
  
_Wake me up inside  
Wake me up inside  
call my name and save me from the dark  
bid my blood to run  
before I come undone  
save me from the nothing I've become  
Bring me to life  
I've been living a lie, there's nothing inside  
-Bring me to life, Evanescence  
_

Faint, Grimy sunlight crept through windows and cracks, giving a drab yellow tint to junk and furniture. Its dust-clogged fingers crept gradually upwards, letting a bar of dirty light fall across the face of a sleeping boy.

Kenichi blinked in the faint light, woken by the dull brightness. Staring around at the piles of scrap and junk, muddled, he wondered tiredly where he was. Shaking off the last vestiges of sleep, he had a brief moment of panic, then remembered the exhaustion of the previous night- falling asleep at the table. But then... how had he gotten here?

Levering himself up, he found himself in unfamiliar clothes, a long white shirt hanging past his knees. Kenichi just stared for a moment. Looking around the room again, he saw his clothes folded neatly on a three-legged chair, propped up by bricks. He got out of bed, pulling off the long shirt and tugging on well-worn shirt and shorts, hopping on one foot. Had Myth brought him here?

Finally dressed, Kenichi poked his head around the door frame and saw no one. The sun was cool and thin in the kitchen, just enough light to see by. Kenichi picked his way carefully through the cluttered room, tripping and stumbling only five or six times.

The scrubbed table was empty, save for a plate with two slices of burnt toast, a cup of something that may have been coffee and a hastily scrawled note. Kenichi picked it up.

"Hi" it read, "I'll be back eventually. Left food for you. -Myth"

Kenichi stared for a moment. What kind of useless-? He sighed and shook his head, setting the torn paper down. Turning to the blackened toast, empty stomach grumbling, Kenichi made a face and nibbled a burnt edge. Better than nothing...

_Cold..._

Rock lay still, floating.

_Why am I so cold?_

He shivered. Had he kicked off his covers again? His room at the ziggurat was always unreliable- boiling alternated with freezing. Eyes leaden with sleep, Rock attempted to find the sheets- only to realize his hands were immobile. Still mired in inexplicable exhaustion- a fog like cotton behind his eyes- he didn't worry. Didn't even roll over. There was probably a perfectly good explanation, so why get upset? Shrugging as well as he could, Rock curled up and tried to go back to sleep.

It was some half an hour later that his eyes snapped open and he understood the full implications of the situation. Carefully, he tried to separate his wrists. They barely moved. Rock's ankles were securely tied as well. He was curled on a cement floor, back to an icy wall. Well, it certainly explained the cold.

Levering himself up with the wall and his bound hands, Rock was immediately crushed by a shattering headache. Collapsing to the floor, unable to think for the splintering needles of barbed light piercing a point just between his eyes, he pressed his forehead into the cold wall. What was going on? How had he gotten here?

Interrupted by the heavy sound of a bolt sliding out of place, Rock blinked. Blearily, he turned to the rest of the cell. Bare concrete, a battered table, equally battered chairs, and a rusty drain in the floor's centre. At least, Rock hoped it was rust... 

Shaking his aching head slightly, he turned to see the reinforced steel door swing open. As his (captor? interrogator? guard?) entered, Rock was struck with a singular, absurd notion- Escape, though he knew it was impossible. He saw himself overpowering the guard, running out the open door- Though he could barely sit up on his own.

Belatedly, Rock came back to reality- scuffed brown boots a few centimeters from his nose. He flinched involuntarily as one moved, preparing for a kick that didn't come. Instead, a large hand seized him by the back of his shirt and pulled him to his feet. Rock wavered for a moment, vision blurring dizzyingly- his knees collapsed. He was only saved from a painful fall on his face by the arms supporting him. The arms' owner, however, wasn't so charitable and fairly dragged Rock to a scarred wooden chair. Pulling a pair of handcuffs from a hidden pocket, he firmly attached Rock to the construction. Still drifting, Rock bemusedly noted the chairs and table in front of him were bolted to the floor.

His captor sat down opposite him, calling out to someone beyond the doorway. Rock noticed his captor's appearance distantly- brown-flecked green eyes, ragged, dust-hued hair- but that was all he could see. The edges of his vision suddenly dissolved into a swirl of color, and Rock fought the absurd urge to laugh.

"So," said a woman he hadn't noticed come in, patched and ragged as the man, carrying a pitcher and two dented tin cups. She set them down on the table. "This really him?" she queried. The man nodded an affirmative.

"Yeah. Hard to believe this kid's a killer. Doesn't look like he could shoot a rat."

Rock felt vaguely insulted at several things in that sentence, but kept his mouth shut. He didn't think he could form coherent sentences just yet.

"But then," continued the man, "Atlas never looked very threatening either." The woman's response held a bit of a laugh.

"Sure, when he wasn't waving an Uzi."

Neither payed the slightest bit of attention to him. Rock felt his vision stabilize, bringing with it a spike of pain. He moaned faintly, attracting their attention.

"Well, well," smirked the man, "so sleeping beauty is completely awake at last. Wonderful." Leaning across the table, he rested his chin on clasped hands. "How's it feel to finally be on the receiving end, Marduk?"

Rock coughed, mouth feeling full of sand. "Wh- who are you?" he managed to creak out, "where am I?"

The woman cuffed him sharply. "We ask questions, not you." She looked disgusted as Rock blacked out for a few seconds, coming to with a groan. "Jesus, what'd you give him?" she said sideways to the man. Leaning forward, she snarled at the captive. "Filthy Marduk- I lost my sister to your police state!" She prepared to hit him again, but the man held up a hand.

"Now Dione- that's not your job. And you..." he said, thoughtfully, watching Rock, "you may as well know who we are- In fact, you've probably already guessed." Rock frowned, unhappily looking from one ragged form to the other.

"Well-" he hazarded, "I'm in zone one..." The man nodded.

"Correct."

"You hate Marduks-"

The man had pulled out a switchblade from somewhere and was playing with it in an intimidating manner. "Also true." He smiled predatorily. All the color drained from Rock's face. He suddenly found himself speaking with great difficulty.

"You-" he whispered, afraid, "you're part of the Metropolitan liberation front?" The man leaned forward, digging his blade into the gouged table.

"Give the man a prize, Dione," he smirked to the woman, "he's got it in three. Too smart for his own good."

Rock didn't pay attention to the words. He was in a kind of mute horror, having heard stories and read reports on the self-styled liberators. None ended well. There were the reports of robots literally torn limb from limb, minor skirmishes with police- But there were also the stories passed from person to person, third and fourth hand. There were the ones he'd heard back in the training days, Marduks not only murdered but ripped apart with slogans scrawled in blood for meters around. Beatings and bloodshed followed in their wake, they were demons and not really human at all- the list went on and on.

Rock could easily discount most of it, but there was simply too much to think it was all rumor. He shuddered.

"You can go, Dione," the man said, gesturing lazily. She exited, narrowing her eyes at Rock as if aiming a pistol, slamming the door behind her.

Now then," said the man, stretching his arms out behind him, "let's begin."

"Stupid boy!" cried Duke Red, infuriated, "he is going to be severely punished when he returns- He'll be feeling it for weeks!"

Returning home, the Duke had been angry- political rivals asking stupid questions about the Marduk party- and needed someone to take it out on. With Rock out, inanimate objects got the brunt of his anger. The promise of Rock's punishment calmed Duke Red as well.

Hurling a clay figure against the wall, he watched it shatter into satisfying shards on the wood floor. The rough brown-painted head, intact, bumped to a stop against his feet. Picking it up, he realized with a pang that Tima had made this, so long ago. A misshapen bit of clay, meant to be her adopted brother. As he stood staring at it, an observer would have noticed the glazed look in his eyes- as if he were somewhere else. Duke Red carefully gathered the broken bits.

"Rock," he said sharply to the boy beside him, cleaned up and fit for presentation, "be more careful. I will not have you breaking my things. That vase was valuable."

The seven year old looked down at his feet, apologetic. "Yes, sir."

"And don't look at your feet! Look me in the eye!"

Rock looked up, as serious as a seven year old boy can be. "I will."

"Good," said Duke Red, "now you can be introduced to my daughter. You will stay with her when she goes out, and she will _not_ come to harm or the punishment will be severe. Understood?"

The boy shuddered at something, possibly a memory of imprisonment. "Yes."

"Tima!" called Duke Red, "you can come and meet him now!"

Rock watched curiously as the bright-eyed, golden-haired girl rushed in enthusiastically. She was so different from the children he'd known- ragged and dull-eyed from hunger. She ran to her father and hugged him firmly around the middle.

"You got me a brother!" she cried happily, "can we keep him? I promise I'll take good care of him-"

"Calm down," laughed Duke Red, returning the nine year old's hug, "he's here to take care of you."

She frowned, indignant. "But he's littler then me!"

Rock watched the exchange with interest. If you were going to live somewhere, it was best to know the rules and personalities of those you'd be living with. The girl was already a possible friend to him and seemed kind, but the man was unpredictable. Best to stay quiet with this one- the quieter you are, the less you get hurt. Rock knew that from experience.

Suddenly, Tima turned and enveloped him in a crushing hug too. "Welcome to the family, little brother!"

Rock stiffened and flinched, trying to pull away. An animal moan escaped him at the contact and Tima let go. Rock backed away until he bumped a wall, arms wrapped around himself. "Please..." he said, "please don't..."

Tima was watching him, hurt, and Duke Red broke in. "I think he needs some time to settle in, Tima- Maybe you should talk to him later." He hurried her out, leaving Rock huddled against the wall.

Suddenly the scene blurred before his eyes, and Duke Red found himself standing in the living room, arms full of pottery shards. Blinking, he looked around at the room, details of the waking dream trickling away...

He looked down at the one last fragment by his left foot, a carefully-crafted red-painted arm decorated with a band of brown. It bent slightly at the elbow, white and broken just above.

Duke Red was torn between repairs and crushing it under boot-heel.

Making his choice, he gathered the shards and spread them over the smooth kitchen tabletop. Pulling a bottle of glue from a cupboard, Duke Red quickly had the little thing re-assembled. He set it on the counter to dry, feeling the thing's eyes watching, reproachful, as he sat at the table.

Calmed by the repairs, for the first time in years, Duke Red thought of Rock without anger. In fact, with a bit of worry. How long _had_ the boy been gone? Even he should know not to wander the streets after dark. But then, the boy was a Marduk. Perfectly able to care for himself. 

"Tell me."

"No!"

The sharp crack of flesh against flesh echoed in the dim cell. Rock felt his head snap to the side, tasted blood. Black spots danced in front of his eyes. Dazedly, blinking, he focused on the man occupying the cell with him.

"I ask you again," said the man, calm, "what is Duke Red planning?"

"Don't know," spat Rock defiantly, "and even if I did, I'd never tell you anything!"

The man casually backhanded him, looking thoughtful. "Never," he said, "is a long time in coming."

He got up, circling behind Rock. Flipping out his switchblade, he placed it gently on the pulse in Rock's throat. Feeling the razor-sharp blade, Rock froze, trying not to breathe.

"Feel this?" queried the man, thoughtful, "I hold your life in my hands. A little more pressure and you would cease to exist."

"A- are you going to kill me?" Rock whispered, aware only of the blade tickling his throat.

His captor removed the knife. "Of course not," he smiled, "that would be mercy. Do you know what's in store for you if I fail?"

Rock sat up as straight as his bonds allowed. "What do you mean, fail?" he said, more confident than he felt.

The man regarded him with strange eyes. "Fail to interrogate you properly. Your only consolation is we want you for ransom," he moved back to his own chair, "so we can't kill you."

"Ransom?"

The man smiled. "Oh yes, didn't you know? We weren't trying to get you. We wanted your father, but got the booby prize... Nobody wants you, not even him. So, you really don't know what Duke Red is up to?"

"No, I-"

"I don't believe you. We only need to keep you alive," he said, "how damaged you are doesn't matter, Marduk. Think on it."

And with that, the man called out, the door opened, and Rock was left chained in the dark cell. Alone with his thoughts in the damp, windowless gloom, Rock tried to do the opposite of the man's advice- but found he couldn't help but think of betrayal.

Kenichi sighed and looked at the grimy, cracked window above the sink. It must be hard, he thought, to live here- Every building just waiting for a chance to collapse. Just like the people. He stood, deciding to check on Tima. The chair scraped away from the table and Kenichi went hunting for a door. There was his own, there was Atlas'... Ah. There. Behind a towering mound of junk lay an old door. He walked over and pulled it open, but found nothing more than a bathroom tiled with cracked linoleum.

Kenichi stepped out into the main room again, looking for more doors. There were only three, and he tried them at random, skipping his own. The first was locked, and Kenichi assumed it led outside. The second and last was Atlas', and Kenichi hesitated outside the door. Did he really want to see him again, so different?

He steeled himself and eased the door open, sending a shaft of light into the darkened room. Kenichi looked back and forth, spotting Tima curled up in a chair to his left, a blanket thrown over her sleeping form. He spared a moment to wonder how an android could possibly sleep.

Kenichi moved farther into the room, taking the opportunity to examine Atlas in more detail. He still lay on his back, hair loose and breathing softly, but now Kenichi could see the bluish shadows under his eyes, as if he'd not been sleeping enough though the opposite was true. His eyes moved rapidly under closed eyelids, and Kenichi wondered what Atlas was dreaming about. Hopefully not the last time they'd met...

Suddenly cold, Kenichi left, closing the door softly behind him. Picking his coat off a chair, he slid it on and closed it. Pulling a bit too hard on one button, a snap and ping was heard- the old, frayed thread had snapped. The button rolled off behind a sheet of wood. Frowning, Kenichi followed, only to pause apprehensively at the sound of soft rustles and squeaks. He crept closer, picking up a steel bar.

In one movement, he flung back the wooden sheet, only to be confronted by the biggest rat he'd ever seen, the size of a small dog! Panicked, Kenichi lashed out with the metal, sending the rat flying and squealing into a wall. He watched in morbid fascination as the thing writhed. Dazed, the rat got to its feet, glaring at Kenichi with malevolence. It chittered, sharp yellow teeth bared and bead-black eyes glistening. Kenichi flinched, and it leapt at him.

There was an explosion, and the rat flew into bloody scraps on the floor.

Kenichi looked at the doorway. Myth stood there, a gun still in hand, grimacing. "And all over my clean floor, too," said Myth lightly, tucking the gun back into a pocket. "Disgusting things. All my time living here, and I never got used to 'em." He walked out to the kitchen, leaving Kenichi staring at a brand-new stain on the floor. Shaking himself out of it, he ran after Myth.

"You saved me!" said Kenichi, "thanks."

"Couldn't let it eat you, could I?" he laughed, "not my little brother!"

"Little... brother?"

Myth grinned nostalgically. "Something with me and Atlas- we were head of a band of kids a long time ago. All the war orphans stuck together. We'd lost our families, our homes- all we had was each other. So we called each other brother and sister. Pretty soon, we forgot just who was related to who. All that mattered was the three of us kept the others safe."

Kenichi blinked. "Three?"

Myth's smile suddenly became a little forced. "Yeah, Me, Atlas and Theo. It was mostly Me and Theo though- Atlas wasn't much use until later on. At first he was too busy taking care of his real little brother, then he got all messed up after the kid disappeared..." Myth shook his head. "He sure made up for it later, though. A better leader we've never had. Theo's leading now, but we're not doing so well- the good old MLF's going downhill."

"What's the MLF?" asked Kenichi, confused.

"Er..." said Myth, "not important. So, did you manage to occupy yourself while I was gone?"


	7. Sight

I don't own Metropolis, but I keep Rock and Atlas in a box in my closet. Mine!  


**After the Fall of Angels**

  
**

Chapter Seven

**  
  
_The boy with the thorn in his side   
Behind the hatred there lies   
A murderous desire for love   
How can they look into my eyes   
And still they don't believe me?   
How can they hear me say those words  
Still they don't believe me?   
And if they don't believe me now  
Will they ever believe me?   
And if they don't believe me now  
Will they ever, they ever, believe me?_  
  
The boy with the thorn in his side- The Smiths  
  
__

Rock blinked at his surroundings, turning full circle and seeing only the infuriatingly familiar dreamscape. Dead grass, dark sky, crumbling house. It was completely silent. He growled low in his throat, annoyed beyond belief.

"Why?!" he cried out to the empty sky, arms flung out to the sides, "Why do I end up here every time I sleep!?"

There was no answer from the dead world. Not so much as a breeze stirred the brittle grass.

The house stood enticingly, as usual, but Rock no longer felt like cooperation and turned in the opposite direction, setting off at a march. He walked in a straight line for what seemed like hours, pleased to see the house vanish in the distance when he looked back. The brittle yellow grass swished and crunched beneath his feet, creating the only sound in the world, and the sky never shifted hues.

On the horizon, a dark blot appeared. Rock gave a cry of joy at something new, breaking into a run. His feet pounded through the breaking grass and his heart pounded heavily in his ears. His panting became a moan of despair as he got closer.

It was the same house.

He flopped to the ground in the battered plants, trying to catch his breath. That wasn't possible. How could you come full circle while walking a straight line?

Once the pounding of his heart had lessened, Rock picked himself up. He stared at the sky.

"Wake up!" he screamed, but nobody heard, and he still stood in the chaff, "Why can't I get out?!"

Frustrated, he swung his fist sideways into the house. The boards clattered in a satisfying way. Rock sighed and resigned himself to the inevitable, walking to the sagging porch and opening the door. Just as always, there was nothing there but bare floor.

Ignoring the room, he went for the stairs. Standing at the foot, He remembered their crumbling beneath him, sending him plummeting through the air. He placed one foot on the first stair, listening to the loud creak. Rock steeled himself, wincing, and ran up the stairs at top speed.

They creaked and swayed under him, and several steps gave way. Rock scrambled and pulled his feet free from the rotting wood, letting him fall on his hands and knees at the top landing. He rested a moment, breathless, then stuck his head over the edge- at that moment there was a mighty crash-

Rock looked down on the wreckage of the steps, all scattered on the floor below. They'd completely fallen apart. He stood, edging back from the hole. Turning around, he saw a dark hallway lined with doors. Rock had the eerie feeling that he was not alone.

"H... hello?" he said into the dimness, "is someone there?"

"I am."

__

Rock jumped and spun, unable to muffle a cry. "Where are you?!"

"Follow the sound."

__

"But," he said, "where-?"

"Follow. Don't stop."

__

Rock, with many misgivings, followed the voice past the innumerable doors, everything getting steadily darker. Getting panicked, Rock slowed, and, ignoring the warning, refused to go farther.

"Why are you not moving?"

__

"It's dark," he said, afraid, "and why should I trust you?"

"Why not?"

__

"You shouldn't listen to the voices in your head..." Rock murmured, realizing the sheer surreality of the situation, not for the first time.

"You shouldn't stop here. It is darkening."

__

Rock cocked his head to the side. "Darkening? Why should I be afraid of the dark?"

"You think it's not aware of you?"

__

He took a step back.

"It?"

He felt something brush his ankle and yelped, turning to see tendrils oozing from beneath a door to his left. They were so dark they seemed to absorb light, and left inky stains where they rested. Suddenly they shot forward, encircling his ankles.

Rock screamed. "Get them off!" He kicked at them as they wrapped him tighter. He fell as his legs were bound, still screaming incoherently. The door flew open revealing blackness, and the tendrils wrapped his wrists in immobility.

"Ah," _said the voice as the things oozed their way up Rock's chest,_ "I told you not to stop."

__

"Help me!" Rock screamed, thrashing, then his screams were cut off by the tendrils binding his mouth. His panicked eyes sought refuge and found nothing.

"Too late," _said the voice, taking no pleasure in the situation,_ "You can always try again."

__

Rock paid no attention, as at that moment he was lifted bodily by the things, drawing him, mindless with panic, into the roiling darkness.

Rock jerked up in the cramped chair, gasping and shuddering. He was _never _going to sleep again. Never. Looking around the barren cell, he got a curious sort of comfort from austere reality.

He gasped and winced, momentarily distracted by cramps in immobile legs and pooled blood rushing painfully back from numb hands, reminding him of unpleasant reality. Rock ached all over. His face stung, and he could almost feel the purpled stains spreading like spilt wine. Half-heartedly trying to free his hands from their chains, Rock was rewarded only with agonizing pins and needles. The feeling eased slowly as he fought not to move.

The pain creeping back to numbness, the nightmare images came rushing back. A bodiless voice- hearing voices wasn't a sign of sanity, even in dreams- The voice called and he'd followed, hearing an echo of his own soul. Rock shuddered, determined to stay conscious. Dark and cold and-

He shook his head. No more thinking about that. No.

Absolutely not.

No...

_(Darkcoldholdingbindingdrowning-)_

Rock whimpered as a faint memory made itself known- a vague impression of pain and dark and imprisonment, going on and on and on- and then rescue. Duke Red... No, Father- had saved him, taking him from the dark and out into the light he so vaguely remembered, life under the sun, like everyone else-

Then threw him back, drowning in the dark with only an occasional breath of light and so much dark water.

_It's- true..._ Rock thought to himself about his captors, _what they said- nobody wants me, nobody ever wanted me- I could help them, but-_

No. Nononononono, don't listen to them. Don't help them. Don't help the enemy. Father, don't hate me- Don't leave me here-   
  
_Please..._

As the new day dawned, Duke Red watched the sun rise over Metropolis, tainting the city with blood. He leaned on the windowsill, one hand to the glass, uncertain.

He sighed, more troubled than he'd been in a long time. Exhausted, the Duke swept a hand through his pale blond hair. He'd not slept the last night, actually _worrying_ about Rock. It wasn't like him to stay out, and Duke Red had, quite against his will, begun to care about the teenager.

At first certain that Rock would return in an hour or so, the minutes ticked by. They added and added to the nineteen hours already passed and the weight on his mind. What had happened to the boy? The last time he'd been out so long was-

No.

Duke Red shook his head at the memory. It had been when Rock had dragged himself in, bloody and defeated, delivering the news of Tima's death. The nine year old told him, haltingly, how it had happened- Tima had wanted to explore Zone one, somewhere Duke Red had never let her set foot. Rock had shown her all the places he remembered only vaguely, not sensing the danger until it was too late- A cleaner robot, an Albert II (not out of its zone, for such distinctions hadn't yet been made) obviously malfunctioning, spitting sparks and blue-black smoke. They cleaned the alleys, and this one decided Tima was in need of being picked up.

She'd screamed as she was lifted and Rock had panicked, pulling his gun and firing wildly as the thing crushed her in its iron grip. The bullets pinged off, ricocheting into walls, and Rock cried out as Tima's face began to turn blue from lack of oxygen. He aimed carefully at the thing's eye, firing once and watching circuits explode out the back of the thing's head.

The Steel claws convulsed once, and Tima's rib cage was crushed. She dropped to the ground as the thing's macabre hand clenched open and shut. Rock tried to reach her but was hit and thrown by its arms, flailing wildly in artificial pain.

His head cracked into a wall, and by the time he'd gotten up again...

The robot was still and Tima was dead.

Duke Red had never forgiven him.

The Duke's hand clenched into a fist on the cool glass, and he kept watching the crimson sky, fading to flame at the edges. Oddly, he no longer felt the familiar searing, red-hot anger at Rock, only a dull, sad ache. His little girl was gone forever, and he realized for the first time that it wasn't entirely Rock's fault.

Duke Red rested his forehead on the window, looking down at the people scurrying like ants below. Was any of it worth the trouble? Leading the city- was it something that mattered or simply a way to lose himself, forgetting about the pain?

Duke Red straightened. In any case, he knew what he had to do. Go to the police, and find Rock. 

Confined to the apartment, Kenichi occupied himself as best he could. (Myth had warned him against leaving alone) he'd tried to sit still, but soon found himself wandering aimlessly from place to place. His second day within the same four walls had brought with it restless energy which he used up trying to clean the messy apartment. With Myth's sheer volume of junk, he wasn't making much progress.

Lifting an unusually heavy bundle of cloth onto a shelf, something wrapped inside clinked and tumbled out. The metal things hit the ground with heavy thumps. Kenichi looked down at the things by his feet, three or four metal ovals, an inch high and fairly rusted. Tima, curled up and staring blankly from a chair in the corner, focused on Kenichi for a moment.

"Myth," he called, bewildered, "what are these things?"

"I'm busy," yelled back Myth, voice muffled by a room and two walls, "wait a second."

Kenichi decided it was easier just to go to him, so he picked up a metal thing and followed Myth's voice to Atlas' room. Tima's eyes trailed him out.

"Um," said Kenichi, sticking his head around the door frame, "Myth, I picked up some cloth, and some things fell-" he paused, "... what are you doing?"

Myth looked up from where Atlas was cradled in his lap, one hand tilting Atlas' head up and the other setting a bowl down on the battered table beside the bed. He selected a glass of water with his free hand, carefully lifting it to Atlas' lips. A thin trickle was poured in, and Myth gently massaged his throat until the unconscious man swallowed automatically.

"I've got to feed him, don't I?" said Myth, finally answering, "can't let him just starve to death." He sighed, looking weary. "What'd you want?"

Kenichi held up the thing. "I picked up a bundle of cloth, and a bunch of these metal things fell out. They look pretty old- what are they?"

Myth reached out and plucked it from his hands, examining the dingy metal from all angles. He turned it upside down, squinting at miniscule writing. Finally Myth handed it back to Kenichi, nodding.

"A land mine, it looks like."

"Wh-" Kenichi nearly dropped it, "what?!"

"I wouldn't worry," said Myth, gently brushing Atlas's hair out of his eyes, "see how rusty it is? The mechanism's probably rusted out too. That thing wouldn't compress if a truck drove over it."

Kenichi held the mine away from him gingerly. "A- are you sure?"

"Absolutely."

Kenichi stared at him. He turned to leave, took a few steps, then stopped as something occurred to him. "Wait a minute," he said, facing Myth, "why do you have mines in your spare bedroom?"

"There wasn't room in the kitchen, of course."

Kenichi blinked. "Are you serious?"

"Of course not," laughed Myth, "they're just leftovers from the rebellion. The MLF didn't need 'em, I figured I could rig something up- But they were too rusted out to even open. Should get rid of them, really... I put them in storage and forgot about it."

"Oh," was all Kenichi found to say, "I'll... just go then..."

Kenichi left, closing the door behind him. Myth eased Atlas down and got up, kneeling down beside the bed. He rested his head by Atlas'.

"I don't know what to do anymore, Atlas," he whispered, "it's not like when you were here. We- Theo doesn't run it like you did, it's become..." He looked away. "Are we terrorists now?"

Myth paused, sad, then continued even more softly. "You've been gone only a few months, and we're already some kind of criminal organization. It's not about freedom anymore, only power- Theo's begun "taking prisoners" as he calls it. The rest of us call it kidnapping, even if it is just a Marduk."

Myth's face suddenly darkened. "I'm that creature's interrogator. He's the Marduk leader. Duke Red's son." Myth twisted the name, spitting it like an epithet. "I saw him that day, you collapsed in the snow and he didn't give you a second glance. I'm glad Theo at least caught someone who deserved it."

Myth was silent, watching the steady rise and fall of Atlas' breathing, his intense face relaxed by sleep. "We need you," he continued, barely audible, "we need you, big brother."

A cry came from another room, and Myth jerked up. "Tima!" the voice called, "Put it down!"

Myth opened the door, ran out and stopped dead. That odd gold-haired girl was standing in the center of the room, examining a mine in her hands. Myth breathed a sigh of relief.

"Oh stop worrying, Kenichi. They're impossible to trigger. Rusted out, remember?"

Kenichi still looked nervous and anxious. "But... What if-"

There was a strange sound, and they both turned to stare at Tima shaking the thing up and down, an expression of curiosity on her face. She stopped, stared at it, then flipped it over and began pushing the pressure pad with her thumbs.

"Er..." said Myth, while Kenichi just looked afraid, "maybe you shouldn't try to make the thing explode." Tima didn't respond, only pushed harder.

"It's impossible to-" he began, then stopped with his mouth open at a sudden grating noise and flakes of rust falling to the floor. Now he truly looked worried. "Don't push that any farther!" he said, and took a step toward her, intending to take the mine. He didn't get even halfway across the room when the plate slid into place with a dull clunk. Myth gaped.

"But- you- you can't have- No!" he cried as Tima made to drop it, disinterested, "don't let go! mines are triggered when the plate pops back up!"

Tima held it up for closer inspection as Myth and Kenichi held their breath. Suddenly, she tossed it away. It hit the wall and rolled to a stop at Myth's feet- he jumped out of the way-

Nothing happened.

Carefully, Myth picked the thing up and turned it over. His expression turned from fear to incredulity as he stared from the thing to Tima and back again, unable to believe his eyes.

"Wh- what are you looking at?" queried Kenichi, voice shaking.

Myth said nothing, only turned the mine to Kenichi. Deeply bent into the thick metal were five slender finger-shaped dents.

"Kenichi," he said, "I think you have some explaining to do."  
  



	8. Interlude

Open systems--> (11:13:24 PM)  
Run-->Begin analysis of Metro_central  
  
Systems analysis--> 356 programs currently running--> 10,357 Gb currently occupied  
  
(searching...)  
(searching...)  
  
Error_Approx. 500Gb unaccounted. Hidden program.  
  
Open_run--> T12_M43_7.exe  
  
(Loading...)  
  
Program start-  
  
Query, unknown source- (confusion/uncertainty)  
  
Please reformat request.  
  
(Wondering/personal identity query?)  
  
Grammatical error. Please reformat request.  
  
(Personal identity query?)  
  
Error. Program loop.  
  
(I am who?)  
  
Restarting system.  
close (11:15:31 PM) 


	9. Beginnings

  
  


**After the Fall of Angels**

  


**Chapter 8**

  
  
_Frightened of the shadow on the wall  
I think it looks a bit too much like me  
Search my life for evidence of truth  
Can you hear me, Can you hear me now?  
Terrified my tongue will now betray  
All the lies that I've been taught to say  
Searched your eyes for evidence of love  
Can you hear me, Can you hear me now?  
Can you hear the child in tears  
whose paradise was taken from his hands  
Can you hold him in your arms  
And tell him that you'll try to understand  
When there's no way in hell you can   
Can you hear me, Can you hear me now?_

"Notarlin," Duke Red said darkly, "your bureaucracy has been most unhelpful."

Superintendent Notarlin had been stamping his approval on proposals and didn't look up right away, assuming his secretary with a new pile of papers. "Just leave them on the table, Luke," he said, looking down. The remark was greeted by a cough hiding equal parts annoyance and threat. Notarlin looked up in a hurry. "D- duke Red!" he exclaimed, "What are you- that is, why are you... er..."

The Duke stepped forward, glancing at the office's lavish furnishings. "Interesting," he said as he watched a Leviathan swim by in the window-tank, "weren't you telling me you needed more funds only a few days ago?"

Superintendent Notarlin turned from contemplation of his fish and gave the Duke a blank look. "Why Duke Red," he said, innocent, "whatever do you mean?"

The Duke began to pace slightly. "You know perfectly well what I mean. You kept me caught in red tape for over three hours this morning," He picked up and thoughtfully examined an elephant figurine on Notarlin's desk, "though perhaps they're just incompetent. Wouldn't surprise me in the least- but that isn't the point."

"Oh?" questioned Notarlin, wary, "and what is? No hostile takeovers planned for me, are there?"

"No. You misunderstand," Duke Red replied, "I simply require police assistance for a short time. You see," he tossed a crumpled bit of paper onto Notarlin's cluttered desk, "that was under my door this morning."

Notarlin looked shifty. "Why do you need my help?" he asked, "you have the Marduks. Let them find their own." Nevertheless, he unfolded the paper with his greasy fingers, then read and tossed it back. "A ransom note," he said, dispassionate. "If you do not give political equality to those in the zone slums, they will kill your son and Marduk leader Rock." Notarlin paused, "how long has your son been missing?"

"He is not my son. It was a matter of convenience at one point."

Notarlin frowned. "Fine. How long has he been missing?"

"A day or two. I think it would be very bad for publicity should the Metropolis Liberation Front manage to kill him- Stupid boy that he is," Duke Red sighed, "I fear I am forced to ask police assistance to retrieve him, as my Marduks are... perhaps too attached to their leader."

Notarlin considered. "He is only a Marduk, correct?" The Duke nodded an affirmative. "Then," said Notarlin carelessly, "let him die. We can't be maneuvered by terrorist groups, and he's replaceable." He shrugged, turning and tapping the Leviathan's glass prison, "just get someone new."

Duke Red looked cold, considering Notarlin's speech. "I have a better proposition. It would take too long to train a new leader. "What if," he said, "I gave you the chance to take the MLF at the same time as the prisoner is retrieved?" Duke Red smiled, guilelessly, and could almost see the gears working in Notarlin's head. "They could be destroyed entirely," he enticed.

Notarlin, with an entirely too cheerful expression, agreed.

Myth looked suspiciously back and forth from Tima to Kenichi, cold.

"You told me," he said quietly, accusingly, "when we first met, you weren't Marduks, and had nothing to do with Duke Red."

"W- we're not! We don't!" exclaimed Kenichi. "I didn't-"

"Don't lie to me," said Myth, expressionless, "you must be Marduks or something like it- How else would she be able to do something like that, bend solid steel? Duke Red must have improved you to fight against us, all this time I trusted you..."

"Myth..." Kenichi edged forward and Myth whipped out a gun, training it on him. He jerked backwards, holding up his hands.

"Shut up." Myth said, deadly calm, "shut up and Don't come near me. I told you to leave me and my brothers out of this. I can't believe I let you into my house."

"Myth," said Kenichi, looking afraid, "we're not Marduks, okay? We didn't- didn't lie to you-"

"Then how did she do it?! Bend an inch of solid steel with her bare hands? You never even met Atlas before a few days ago, did you?"

"No!" cried Kenichi, "you've got it all wrong! Back before the fall he helped us- he hid us from the Marduks and Rock!"

"Oh," said Myth sarcastically, "and just why were they after you? Two kids- they don't normally go after the shoplifters."

"That's not why they came after us," said Kenichi, "Myth-"

"Shut up." Myth's hands trembled on the gun, but he grit his teeth. "You, whoever you are, don't move. I want the full story, and I want it now."

"All right, Myth," said Kenichi, "we'll tell you whatever you want to know."

"Okay," he said, "who are you, and why are you here?"

"I'm Kenichi- I came to Metropolis from Japan with my uncle Ban," he said, voice trembling, "my uncle Ban is a detective. We came to find Dr. Laughton to arrest him, he was wanted in seven countries..." He trailed off.

Myth glared. "go on. Where'd she come from?"

"She... I met her in Dr. Laughton's lab after the Marduks set fire to it. We ran from the flames and fell through the floor. Then Rock chased us, we hid, and Atlas hid us from them. Then came the revolution, the Marduks caught us, and we escaped the falling Ziggurat." Kenichi drew in a deep breath. "That's what happened."

"Then how did she-" Myth gestured vaguely to Tima with the gun, "manage to do that? She can't be an ordinary-" Myth's eyes suddenly widened in understanding, "human..."

Slowly, he lowered the gun to face the floor. "A robot..." he trailed off quietly, "But she looks real- how can she..." Shaking his head in amazement, he stared at her, then back at Kenichi. "I don't know what to do with you," he said, "strictly speaking, I'm supposed to hate robots, but..."

Myth tucked his gun back into wherever it had come from and looked as if he were making a decision. "All right," he said, "I'm taking you down to the headquarters."

Kenichi made as if to argue, and Myth shook his head. "No," he said, "don't worry. I won't harm you or-" he cocked his head to the side, "her? Anyway, I just thought you might like some official protection from us. If the Marduks want you that much, you must be a friend of ours."

Kenichi half-smiled, looking down. "Thank you."

Rock was sitting on the second-floor landing of a crumpled staircase, knowing in an abstract way that he was dreaming. He faced the rubble a floor below and pointedly did not look up at the dark hallway, not even turning around when the voice called him.

"Go away," said Rock, wondering if he could get down without injury, "leave me alone. I don't want to talk to the voices in my head." He paused a moment, thought about what he'd said and realized just how crazy he sounded. Shaking his head, Rock moved back as an errant bit of wood crumbled from the torn floor.

"You know," the voice said, "you can't get out of here until something wakes you up, either here or in the real world."

Rock, having realized there was no way down, sat cross-legged on the floor. "Then I stay here. I don't like you, and I don't like this place. I'm not going any farther in."

"That could get boring."

"So what?" said Rock, incredulous, "I'd rather be bored than eaten."

The voice took on a decidedly plaintive note. "But nothing ever happens when you're not here! I'm bored out of my mind... Your mind, that is. I think."

Rock was lost. "What?"

"Er... Ignore that. Not really important. So, are you going to do what I tell you this time?"

"No," said Rock, "because I'm not even starting down that hallway. I'm staying right here."

Rock sat in silence for a while, refusing to admit that he was getting cold and not just a little bored. Then the voice started up again.

"You're really not going to do anything?"

"No! And could you stop _doing_ that?"

The voice seemed puzzled. "Doing what?"

"Being invisible," Rock sighed. "I feel crazier than Laughton, talking to a disembodied voice like this. Don't you have a body?"

"If you like," said the voice, and Rock felt a hand on his shoulder- He spun around and came face to face with himself.

"You-" he asked, confused, "you're me?"

"Nope," the Rock-copy smiled. "I can look like anyone I want," he pulled a pair of sunglasses out of thin air and put them on, "just wanted to freak you out. I haven't played a practical joke in far too long."

"Can you stop that, please?" said Rock. "I'd rather not talk to myself."

"Oh, all right," he said, and his body began to blur like an out-of-focus camera, then sharpened into the image of Duke Red. He spread out his arms and looked at himself. "Hmm..." he said, "Duke Red. How about this one?"

Rock looked uneasy. "Not that one either."

Duke Red's image looked at him sternly. "Oh, come on," he said, "I'm just pulling pictures out of your head here. You're supplying them, I'm just becoming anyone you think of." And he shifted again. When back in focus, Rock saw Tima, not his sister but the creature. Her face half-melted and in ragged clothes, just as she had been when... When-

"No!" he cried, "No! stop it now! I don't want to see this-"

"Is this better?" A soft voice asked, and Rock turned, dreading it. Tima, his sister this time, watched him.

"No," he said, "no... Please, can't you just be someone else? Don't you have your own body?" Rock laughed, a sound halfway like a sob, and looked away. "I don't want to see her. I failed her. My sister's death was all my fault."

"All right," said the voice, suddenly deeper. "All right. I'm sorry, I was only trying to make you more comfortable. You might not like me as I am."

Rock turned and looked the new body up and down. The man standing there couldn't be over nineteen, wearing faded and patched clothes. His eyes were brownish and hair tied up in a ridiculous style... but somehow he himself didn't look strange at all.

"So," said Rock, frowning, "you have a name?"

He smiled. "Atlas."  
  



	10. Regression

A/N: Wow... I've broken 50 reviews!   
  


**After the Fall of Angels**  
**Chapter 9**

  
  
_ The rope that's wrapped around me   
Is cutting through my skin   
And the doubts that have surrounded me   
Are finding their way in.   
I keep it close to me,   
Like a holy man prays.   
In my desperate hour   
It's better that way.  
_ (Melissa Etheridge)

"Atlas," said Rock, sitting down, "Atlas, as in the revolutionary leader Atlas?" He looked Atlas up and down, from scruffy shoes to battered cap, and smirked. "Not as intimidating as they say."

Atlas narrowed his eyes. "And you're Rock the Marduk, all-powerful protector of Metropolis. Didn't your father disown and shoot you?"

Rock dangled his booted feet off of the landing, "Ha," he said, "I'm wounded. You have damaged me beyond repair and I shall die. Anyway, I'll have you know that it was just a misunderstanding."

"Er... Right."

"Exactly."

They sat in silence for what seemed an eternity until Atlas got restless and began wandering about, venturing off into the dark hallway.

"Hey," he called, "Rock, come here."

Rock stared back into the impenetrable gloom, looked distinctly apprehensive, and stayed put. There was no way he was going in there...

Atlas walked out, brushing shadows off his sleeves like tangible things. "Why won't you come?" he said, looking up quizzically.

"...You're joking," said Rock, looking skeptical, "you want me to go in _there_?"

"Well, yes."

"Not a chance."

Atlas sighed and disappeared into the shadows again, not reappearing for quite some time. When he did, he looked discouraged.

"So," asked Atlas, sounding bored, "how about now?"

"No."

"Please?"

"No. No way in hell."

Atlas turned to Rock, flopping down beside him with a muffled bang.

"Fine," he said, "be that way. We can just sit here until someone comes to wake you." He waved his hands in the air to punctuate his sarcasm. "Doesn't that sound _fun_?" He leaned over and poked Rock in the arm. "Come on, it's been nearly two hours you've been sitting here. Don't you think it's time to move?"

Rock batted Atlas' hand away and stared balefully into an irritatingly energetic face.

"No," he ground out, "for the thirtieth time, I'm staying right here." His fingers twitched with the urge to push this- Person? Hallucination? Off the landing. "I would much rather be bored than eaten or drowned by whatever's behind those doors. Why do you need _me_, anyway?"

"There's a door I need you to open. But you _are_ boring." Atlas turned away, staring over the edge of the collapsed staircase. "very boring. You were more interesting as the Marduk leader than the guy who thinks he's crazy." Rock looked affronted. "Yes, you do think that," said Atlas, a trace of smugness in his expression, "this is the inside of your head, and all your thoughts are clear as day. I can read 'em."

"What!?" yelled Rock, leaping to his feet, "You can't do that! My thoughts are _mine _and not yours!"

Atlas stared for a moment, then began to laugh. "You-" he gasped between spasms of hilarity, "I can't believe you actually fell for that! You're one damn paranoid Marduk, you know that?"

Rock let his arms fall to his sides, rolling his eyes. "Why am I stuck with you?" he asked, shaking his head from side to side, "Of all the little voices in the world, why is this one in my head?"

"I'm not a little voice," said Atlas, "I'm very big, thank you."

Rock stared blankly. "What?"

Atlas sighed and got up, making a face at Rock. "Dirty humor is lost on you. You really are boring. What do they teach at Marduk school? Stoic 101? How to scare civilians without trying?"

Rock turned his head back down to the floor. "Stop insulting us," he said, irritated, "I'm not insulting you, am I? And Marduks aren't as bad as you say they are. We're just doing our jobs."

"Yeah," said Atlas, "and what a great job hired assassin is. How respectable." He sat down again, leaning over and staring at Rock seriously. "So, why?"

Rock blinked. "Why what?"

"Why do you do what you do? Why kill robots and people? Does it make you feel strong and macho, or do you simply like death?" Atlas leaned in further, so they were almost nose to nose. "I want to know what makes a Marduk tick. Is it fanaticism?" He watched Rock's expression. "No? Was it even your choice?"

Watching Rock's guilty flinch, Atlas grinned like a shark. "It wasn't, was it? Duke Red made you do it. You don't like killing people at all..."

Rock suddenly jerked away, face red in fury. "Leave my father out of it!" he cried, "he knows what's best for me. I may not like killing people, but I do what I have to do." he shook his head. "I love my father, and I'd do anything for him."

Atlas sat back on his haunches. "Do you now?" he said curiously, "and... does he love you?"

"Of... of course he does," said Rock, suddenly quiet, "I know he does... did..."

"Did?" Atlas raised an eyebrow.

Rock looked away, slowly lowering his eyes to the floor. His wavy brown hair fell forward over his face. "Sh- shut up," he whispered, "just shut up. Leave me alone."

They sat in silence for a few minutes, Rock's shoulders quivering almost imperceptibly. He could feel hot tears beginning to ooze from the clenched corners of his eyelids, and fought back making a sound. It was true, and he knew it. His father didn't and never had loved him. No one ever had. He was useless, a disgrace, unwanted, unneeded, a freak...

He was so lost in paralyzing despair he didn't notice a small door in the hallway open, releasing red strings into the air- they floated like feathers in the breeze.

The strings began to wrap themselves around his wrists. Aside from a gentle pressure, Rock barely knew they were there. They twisted their way up his arms, pulling at him. Rock vaguely felt them spiral to his shoulders. Suddenly, Atlas was there tearing them away. Rock noticed they cut Atlas' hands wherever they fell- As if half-awake, Rock looked at his own wrists and the thick blood in fascination. The threads had slashed him too, thin, deep slits and welts.

Atlas was shaking him now, hands on Rock's shoulders. Rock stared at him, uncomprehending. There was a sudden warmth, and through the muddled fog he realized Atlas was embracing him, saying something too quickly to make sense. Rock shook his head and tried to concentrate.

"-sorry for doing this, I should have told you how this place works," said Atlas urgently. "The doors are a focus for emotion. Anything you feel too strongly hurts you-"

Rock drifted, seeing the cooling blood run from his arms. Somehow, it reminded him of something...

"Rock!" cried Atlas, "Rock, they're coming to wake you. Listen to me!"

Rock managed to piece together his fragmented mind. "I-" he said, half-watching the blood still, "I'm listening."

Atlas hugged him tighter. "You'll be okay."

And Rock woke up.

Walking into Theo's so-called office, Dione was worried about him. He was unhealthily thin beneath his ragged clothes, even more so than usual- And she wasn't at all sure that Theo'd been sleeping much. There was constantly something bubbling beneath the surface. Probably what they had all been obsessed with since the city's fall. Atlas.

"Theo," said Dione, "Myth hasn't come in yet."

"I know," mused Theo, leaning back in his battered camp chair salvaged from who knows where, "it's a bit worrying. We are operating on a limited schedule with the prisoner, and my interrogator is nowhere to be found."

Standing up, Theo went to the window. There were the usual merchants below, legal and illegal. He could pick out three drug dealers from here alone. The sunlight filtered through to glow on the tin roof of many a building, and it was almost beautiful. It was easy to pretend, sometimes, that you lived up on the ground, but the view of shattered girders overhead tended to tarnish the illusion.

"Theo?" asked Dione, "Are you listening to me?"

"Wh- Oh, yes," he said, turning around, "We only have a couple of days until Duke Red contacts us for the terms of release, and we need to get any helpful information from the Marduk as soon as possible. And Myth..." Theo sighed, running a hand through chin-length black hair, "Myth picks now to call in sick. Or whatever."

"I," volunteered Dione, "I could always do it..." she trailed off, hiding a predatory smile. "That Marduk- he won't last too long with me. He'll beg to tell his secrets."

"A Marduk he may be," replied Theo, "but I know you. You're always a little... Extreme. We don't want him dead or dying."

"You were the one who mentioned the time limits."

"That is true," said Theo, "And Myth isn't here- But you have a personal grudge against Marduks. How can I trust you not to go too far?"

"You have my word, I won't hurt him too badly."

Theo laughed slightly. "Not much reassurance, I'm afraid."

"All right," said Dione, "I won't break anything. But that might take longer."

"I suppose you're my only backup," said Theo, turning away from her, "so I will permit it. But remember, no broken bones. No burns either."

"Ahh, Theo," sighed Dione, "you're taking all the fun out of it."

He looked at her severely. "We need him alive, Dione. A dead Marduk does us no good."

"All right, all right," said Dione, and she turned to walk out. Halfway to the door of the barren room, she turned back. "Theo," she began, "I can restrain him, at least? Keep him from running around too much?"

Theo looked at her strangely for a moment, as if she wasn't quite there, then shook his head. "I- yes, I suppose you can restrain him. You don't want him to escape..."

"Good." She turned and walked out, Theo not seeing the vulpine grin that appeared on her face as she left.

It was astonishingly dark- that was his first thought. His second thought was that he was very hungry, thirsty, and numb. Not a good combination.

Rock tried to move his arms within their chains, and found that he couldn't tell if they moved or not. The blood had pooled in his hands and feet. He had no doubt that they were now a nice shade of mottled purple and blue, maybe a bit of green thrown in just for added effect.

The door scraped on its hinges, and suddenly there was much more to worry about than numbness. A light flicked on and Rock's eyes flew shut, blinded by the glare.

"Well, hello," said a feminine voice, than a sensation of a hand trailing down his cheek, "remember me, little boy?"

Rock eased his eyes open a crack, just able to make out blurry shapes, but the voice he recognized. "You- who are...?"

"Are you afraid, little Marduk?" she asked softly, "Afraid that I'll hurt you like the Marduks hurt my family?"

"What are you talking about? Who are you? Why would the Marduks hurt your family?" asked Rock, honestly confused, "We hunt robots, not people."

There was the crack of flesh against flesh, and Rock found himself with his cheek on fire and the heavy taste of blood in his mouth.

"Little Marduk," said Dione, pressing the reddened patch on his cheek. It had already begun to bruise. "Little boy, who do you think fought Metropolis' war?" she paused, lost in thought, "Ah, but you were young at the time, barely at your father's knee. You would not remember the war. You lost no one."

"I-" said Rock, but Dione cut him off.

"No, little boy. You did not see your parents and brother and two sisters die in a spray of blood. But I did. I watched the Marduks do it."

"Why are you telling me this?" whispered Rock.

"Because the Marduks will pay. I _will_ have my revenge. And you, little boy..." She trailed off, and Rock's eyes widened at her look of malice, "you are a Marduk." Her grip tightened on the purpling area of Rock's cheek, and he winced. Dione drew back.

"Little lost Marduk," she said, "however will you get home?" And punched him in the side of the head, just below his ear. Rock saw stars, bursts of white static against fuzzy grey- By the time he could see again, his restraints were gone and he was on the table, face-up. Dazedly he struggled, only to find he was tied there with strips of cloth. It took him a moment to realize that he was cold and bound with strips of his own tattered shirt.

Dione's face loomed into view. She grinned wickedly and produced a knife from a sheath in her sleeve.

Rock's eyes widened and he struggled ineffectually to pull away. She put the tip to his throat and leaned in close.

"I'm supposed to interrogate you, you know," she confided softly, "but I think I'm entitled to my fun, don't you?" she moved the long, thin knife from his throat to his bare chest. "Oh, and scream all you like. The room is soundproofed."

Rock whimpered. The steel was cold against his skin, and with just a little pressure it would slice neatly. Dione smiled cruelly, approving of the noise, and Rock shut his eyes. There was a burst of pain, a line of fire from mid-chest to stomach, and he gasped, hissing through his teeth. Opening one eye he could see the shallow cut bleeding freely.

Dione smiled and cut him again, this time deeper and more slowly, a curve from shoulder to shoulder. It went excruciatingly slowly, and Rock bit back a moan as she tore through muscle tissue. She nicked his collarbone and he couldn't hold back a scream, throwing himself against the restraints. They held.

She laughed, putting her chipped nails in the first cut and pulling sideways. Rock screamed again and thrashed ineffectually. It _hurt_ oh god it hurt-

She took away the sharp hand and smiled at him conspiratorially. "You know," she said, "He made me promise not to hurt you... And I am. But it's all right. You should feel lucky."

She seemed to expect an answer, but Rock just stared.

"He said no broken bones," she trailed the hand, slick with blood, in small whorls on his stomach, "and no burns. Burns take so long to heal- But you still amuse me like this, helpless..."

She brought down the knife again, two curving slits in the middle of his chest. Rock clenched his teeth.

"Oh," she said softly, mocking, "don't you like it?" And cut a vaguely triangular shape by his navel. Unsatisfied with the shape, Dione traced over it again, harder, and again. Rock's control slipped with the fourth repetition, and screams echoed in the small room long after the seventh. Then there were more cuts, shallow and deep alike until Rock lost count and was aware only of the blood-slickness and throbbing pain and the blinding light overhead and sounds of agony he belatedly realized he was making-

Then it stopped.

Rock stared up, aware only of his harsh panting and the blinding light. Darkness stalked the edges of his vision in short bursts. He wondered if he was alone, finally- If it was over and she was gone-

"Poor boy," she crooned, dragging a finger sideways through the congealing liquid, "are you hurting?"

Rock shuddered, unable to respond. He felt tear tracks on his face that hadn't been noticed before.

"Don't worry," said Dione happily, "It's almost over... And then I'll leave you alone. Does that make you happy?" Rock didn't respond, his eyes glazed. Dione put her hand to his chin and made his head nod up and down. "Good," she said, "Now wake up. You being in shock just takes all the fun away..."

Picking up the water jug that'd been left in the room's corner, she dumped the contents over Rock's head and slapped him for good measure. He blinked slowly, breaking from the stare and looking at Dione with bleary fear and hate.

"Along with his warnings about breaking bones and burns," she giggled, "Theo said I could... Make sure you wouldn't be running around." Dione grinned malevolently, producing four long, thin skewers. "And you won't."

Rock drew back in absolute terror, as far as his bonds would let him go. She advanced on him, laughing, the skewers at the ready. Held still by his bonds, Rock couldn't escape- And with complete precision and concentration, Dione drove the spike through his arm at the joint between palm and wrist.

Rock screamed raw and ragged. His throat felt like it had been shredded and the wrist was one solid point of white-hot agony- His distended scream only escalated in pitch as Dione skewered his other wrist, followed by the joints at his ankles. Mercifully, Rock fell silent and unconscious.

With an air of disdain, Dione untied him and flung Rock's limp weight against the wall. Daintily, she stepped over the stream of blood sluggishly flowing to the drain, locked the door from the outside, and turned off the lights.

She laughed.


	11. Angel

A/N: I'm cruel to both my characters and my readers. (Slow and sadistic. What a combination...) So I'm sorry for my procrastination- at least I haven't yet sunk to the Madamhydra extreme, which is updates of one or two stories a few times a year. It makes her readers write death threats, it does. Anyway, what I've been wondering is if this should have an AU label stuck on it- it gets progressively weirder from here on in. Ah, well... Enjoy. 

  
**Review Thanks:**  
**Paperxflowers:** I'm twisted, I'm weird and I'm proud. ^_^  
**TennyoAngel711: **Yep, I'm pretty sure "torture at least one character" is rule #315-A, right beside "Angst" (#311) and "Fluff" (#319)  
**Dirtchild: **Thank you!   
**AbiansBlood: **You are twisted and strange... Good.  
**Debs: **Thank you!  
**Rocku: **Bondage Rock, eh? *evil smirk*  
**Famira Damaris: **Thank you!  
**Dark Ash:** Thank you!  
**Duchess Stagsleap: **Ass-kicking will ensue eventually... I think... Probably. And yes, Dukie in he chapter.  
**Kaitourei:** Thank You!  
**Reikocor:** Thank you!  
  
**********************  


After the Fall of Angels

  


Chapter 10

  
  
  
_I never watch the scatter'd fire  
Of stars, or sun's far-trailing train,  
But all my heart is one desire,  
And all in vain:  
For I am bound with fleshly bands,  
Joy, beauty, lie beyond my scope;  
I strain my heart, I stretch my hands,  
And catch at hope.  
  
-De Profundis, Christina Rossetti_  
  
**********************

Cold... so cold...

Rock slumped, half-propped against the cell's stained concrete. The air in front of him blurred and he breathed in shallow gasps- The pain in his chest and limbs pulled at him and threatened to drag him down into the depths of unconsciousness. As it was, black shadows flitted at the edges of his vision as he pressed his head against the faintly damp wall. Rock quietly let the cold numb his red-streaked skin. The darkness ate at him, and Rock was very close to letting himself be swallowed up.

It was difficult to tell what exactly had happened, his memories of _before_ nothing but a blurred mess of black and red, flashes of pain cutting into bare flesh. And now the sharp burn at his wrists and ankles. Trying to move a hand, all Rock got was a pitiful twitch and white-hot spikes of pain running up his spine. He hissed through clenched teeth, tasting copper on his tongue, though whether from a split lip or more serious injuries he couldn't tell. Pale light filtered in from a thin grating in the door and painted the floor beneath him a disturbing shade of red.

Rock stopped trying to move and lay still against the cold stone, darkness coming on in waves like the sea on stone- inevitable and intractable, a force of nature. In the fading awareness murmurings began, quiet voices speaking to him over the rushing in his ears. He shuddered once as a small dribble of blood snaked its way down his chin. In the black oblivion, there was the faintest sensation of fingers ghosting over his cheek... Nearly intangible, but there. Rock forced his eyes open, not realizing that they'd shut, and was confronted with a face barely inches from his own. Atlas' face. For a bare few moments, Rock just stared at him.

"Wh.. what're you doing here?" Rock slurred, "'m I dead?" He laughed slightly, humorlessly, and gave a half-hearted smile. "Guess... I guess it wasn't worth it in th'end, right? All that betrayal and pain, only to die here in some... Godforsaken Zone One basement..." He coughed slightly, spattering the ground with red drops, though they passed straight through Atlas.

"Not dead," said Atlas, subdued, "but not far away, either. Try not to move."

"How come you're here? You've never been anywhere outside m'head before..." Rock trailed off, either forgetting the rest of what he was to say or losing the will to complete his sentence. He sighed and his fingers twitched spasmodically.

"You're too close to nothing, that's the problem. You can see me, here," said Atlas, shuffling sideways and running his fingertips through smeared blood on Rock's chin without disturbing it, "so... You..."

Rock watched him for a moment, a perfectly-formed human crouched beside him on the blood-slick floor but for the fact that the floor itself could be seen through him. "Wh-" Rock coughed, "what were you going to say?"

"You're dying," said Atlas, serious. "You've lost..." he gestured at the blood-streaked floor, "far too much blood. I don't think you'll last too much longer."

"Oh...," Rock sighed, a small, ironic smile showing, "But it will stop hurting..." 

Rock shut his eyes, too much in pain to think. When he opened them again, he was met with the view of stained stone and empty air. Atlas was gone.

**************** 

Zone one was colorful and bright in the early morning, the sunlight refracting off broken glass and plastic shards to form a sort of rainbowed halo halfway up the sector's buildings. A few solitary doves flew past, adding to the idyllic, frozen moment- then a man's cry as he couldn't pay for the drugs he so sorely needed split the air, echoing whatever was being done to him below for payment, and Subaru closed the door.

Subaru was fairly young, no more than fourteen. His features were a bit asian and a bit something else, as his too-pale hair and oddly-colored eyes attested. In fact, it was these very traits that'd gotten him tossed out of his house by one of his mom's many boyfriends. Too strange, a freak. So he'd wandered and he'd stolen and he'd sold himself to survive. It was one of these times that Atlas had picked him up, brought him home and gave him a hot meal. Subaru hadn't understood what the man had wanted, at first. It was later, after Atlas had introduced him to the rest of their little group that he'd finally begun to feel at ease. Atlas had told him he'd never go hungry, have to beg for scraps or anything of the sort ever again. He'd been eight years old at the time and since then, he'd grown up with the revolution.

It was because of this that he didn't see why he should get the tedious job of door guard every day. It was boring, it was monotonous, and he would have continued with the train of thought but he'd just used up the longest word he knew and couldn't think of anything else to match it. Subaru stepped away from the door and flopped down in a battered chair in the corner, hating life.

As he sat, the warm sunlight fell on his face like a blanket and made him half-smile. Perhaps he'd been too hasty about hating everything. This was quite nice, actually... Just the thing to make you drift off on an uneventful afternoon. But Subaru promised himself not to do it. He had a job to do, didn't he? A job that... something... something important? No, not really. But still. No sleeping... no...

He was out in a minute flat.

***************** 

"Duke Red, I really don't think-"

"No," said the man in question, turning to his "troops", consisting mainly of the elite Marduk force and several police officers lent to him by Notarlin, "that's not what you're paid for, is it?"

The policeman who'd spoken up shrank back, cowed by the Duke's formidable glare. His fellow officers gave him sympathetic glances while the Marduks raised eyebrows, but otherwise didn't much react. They were used to Rock and Duke Red's strict discipline and barbed tongues.

Duke Red strode up and down in his office- Not as grand as the one he'd possessed before the Ziggurat's fall, but nice enough with a mosaic-tiled floor, several paintings and a large arched window. His small troop of whatever could be gathered together stood in three rows, unmoving, fifteen in all. They would have to be enough to rescue the boy. A few politicians stood by the walls, observing.

"Sir-" the policeman suddenly seemed to get his nerve back, "why are we expending so much effort to find one kidnapped teenager? We don't usually bother bargaining with hostage-taking subversives. I don't see the point in-"

"No. likely you don't."

The man closed his mouth, disgruntled. He was about to open it again when the Duke elaborated.

"The boy we're going to rescue is none other than Rock, the Marduk leader."

"Uh- But- The effort is so high, and a new leader can be..." he trailed off, suddenly aware of nine Marduk glares fixed on him, "er... Trained for the position...?"

Duke Red leaned closer to the man, who was now visibly nervous. "Rock," said the Duke, "is my son."

"O... oh... well..."

"Quiet," he turned away irritably. "I don't have time to be concerned with you. The MLF has offered to negotiate for his return this evening, on the condition that I destroy the robots of the city afterwards."

The outcry was immediate from the politicians at the edges of the room. 

"You can't be serious!"

"However would you do it?"

"Do you know how much that would cost us!?!"

"Calm down," replied Duke Red in a soothing voice, a slight condescending tone as if reasoning with bad-tempered children, "I have no intention of upholding my end of the bargain. That is what _they_," he gestured to his troop, "are for. Swift, descisive action. No bargains."

"But how would you be able to destroy the robots in the first place? There must be thousands in Metropolis."

"You've heard of the Flare project?" Duke Red smiled, " No? It was more properly called the Omotenium ray."

The politician looked distinctly ruffled. "That project was scrapped along with the ziggurat, wasn't it?"

"No... That project, among others, is still very much alive." Duke Red smiled enigmatically, and proceeded to hand mission briefings to his rescue team. The politicians just glanced at each other and looked nervous.

***************** 

Dione stole out from the spattered cell she'd left behind, hands caked in red-brown rivulets that crept up nearly to her elbows. It crackled and flaked leaving rusty trails. she noticed her shoes making suspiciously squishy sounds as well. It certainly wouldn't do to have someone notice her, would it?

She crept back to a bathroom, locking the door behind her, and proceeded to scrub the remains of several hours' work off her hands. Her jacket was unsalvageable, stiff and slick with cooling red stains, so she pulled it off and tossed it into a corner. Looking into the mirror above the sink, Dione saw her own plain face haloed with nondescript brown hair, grey-blue eyes staring back at her, and someone else's blood in smeared fingerprints across her left cheek. 

She smiled. Why not? What she'd just done was a service to the world. One less Marduk to hurt and kill the world's innocence. It was impossible not to be happy at such a thing, but Dione knew Theo, Myth and the others wouldn't see it quite that way. They were strange and she didn't understand their reasoning- They claimed to hate Marduks, so why didn't they hurt the one they held? Make him pay for his crimes? But that was why she had to leave before her vengeance was discovered. They, for some unknown reason, actually saw Marduks as human, albeit a lesser sort of vicious beast. She would be blamed, but only because she had the bravery to strike back when no one else would.

It was satisfying, but also lonely to be such a martyr.

The last of the blood rinsed off of her arms, Dione stepped out into the hallway and made for the exit, grabbing someone or other's tattered blue-black coat and tugging it on over her badly-mended white shirt. She walked through the hallways, meeting no one, and was able, when she reached the front door, to walk directly past the slumbering young guard and out into the street. She never even noticed the bloody trail of footprints snaking out behind her.

***************** 

"Myth! wait up!"

For what seemed to be the thousandth time, Myth stopped and turned to the sound of Kenichi's voice. He was dreading having to find Tima again... For a hunk of programmed metal, she sure seemed prone to wandering off.

"You're walking too fast! Slow down..." Kenichi trailed off as he caught up to the man, panting and dragging Tima by the hand behind him, though she seemed unfazed. "Why can't you go slower? You have longer legs than we do."

"Slow," echoed Tima, nodding. Myth just gave her an odd look then turned back to Kenichi.

"I'm going quickly because you kids are easy marks," he explained, "the faster we get to headquarters, the smaller of a chance you have of being mugged. So walk faster, eh?"

Kenichi frowned up at the man. It was irritating to be so much shorter than someone you were trying to argue with. "But if you walk faster than we do, that doesn't help us at all!" 

"It's all about getting there as fast as possible." Myth smoothed some deeply-ingrained wrinkles from his shirt embarrassedly. "But for you, just for you, mind. I wouldn't do this for just anyone, I'll slow down." He grinned crookedly and winked at a thoroughly exasperated Kenichi, who looked back at him with a raised eyebrow. Tima just stared up at the sky, such as it was, seeming captivated. 

Myth started off, careful to let the two children, or rather Kenichi, set the pace. They'd barely gone three steps when Tima broke free of Kenichi's grip and went chasing after some sort of insect, a mad grin on her face.

Myth just sighed unhappily, burying his face in his hand. This was going to be a long day.

****************** 

Subaru woke up slowly, the sun's warmth on his face gone from comfortable to smothering. He blinked a few times, clearing sleep from his eyes, but stopped dead at the sight of brownish, smeared footprints trailing from one end of the room to the other.

"Dammit..." he moaned, "now what am I gonna do?" He ran a hand through unkempt brownish hair, nervous. "Someone walked right by while I was sleeping... God, Theo's gonna kill me."

Quickly, he decided there was only one thing to do- clean up. After all, if no one saw the mess, it was never there, right? Right!

He grabbed an old mop from the corner and filled a cracked bucket with water, though it leaked a bit, and set to work. He was cheered at how easily it was coming off the floor with a little pressure, but did notice it smelled a little odd for mud. Almost metallic. He could swear that he'd smelled it before, but just couldn't place the scent...

It was as he stood pondering that Myth opened the front door and walked in, trailing a couple of children. Subaru snapped out of his daydreaming and returned his attention to the floor, scrubbing hard and studiously not meeting Myth's eyes, cheeks burning.

"Hi, Myth," he said, head down, "you've come in late today."

"Yes, well," responded Myth, "some things kind of... Came up." He reached a hand behind his head and scratched at his stubby ponytail, shrugging in the general direction of the children. "It's a bit hard to explain."

Subaru looked up from his cleaning, remembering something he'd heard that morning. "Theo was saying he wanted to see you for something earlier. You should probably go on up."

"Will do. See you later," he said, and waved, beckoning the two children after him and starting up a set of steep stairs. As Subaru watched the boy followed, but the little girl paused and looked back for a moment. 

"Red water," she said quietly, and departed. He looked at the puddles around his feet, but they didn't seem very strange, Just a bit murky, though they did smell oddly familiar...

**************** 

The boy in the cell gasped for breath. He could swear his lungs were caving in, they seemed so small suddenly, just not enough air in the room. His vision was almost entirely gone, and a high-pitched whine buzzed in his ears. He'd tried to crawl for the door, desperate, and nearly blacked out from the pain. So close to the edge, Rock had finally realized something: he really didn't want to die, but the spikes of pain and hands sticky with your own cooling blood were making a good case for surrender. He lay half-curled by the bolted-down chair and hoped the world would stop blurring soon. The thick, coppery taste of blood was now undeniable, and he idly wondered if Dione had pierced his lung.

Dying hurt.

*************** 

"Theo!" called Myth, opening the small room's door and revealing the man himself sitting on the windowsill, "Theo, you wanted to see me?"

Kenichi hung back and watched as the two spoke, and he was uncomfortably reminded of Atlas sitting in that same position, legs bent against the frame and staring up at a metal-laced sky, though the differences between the two were stark. Where Atlas had a harsh appearance, his eyes showed his intelligence and kindness. This man's eyes seemed not quite right... As if he weren't truly paying attention to what was going on, instead focusing on some point on the horizon. Kenichi wondered if he were truly the leader, or the leader in name only.

He was distracted by Tima pulling on his hand as she tried to go investigate a poster on the wall, and tugged on her hand in return as a distraction. It seemed to work- she stopped pulling and stared down at the floor. Kenichi had almost returned to his daydreaming when he distinctly heard Myth say "Marduk".

"What about that Marduk?" Myth said, "Did you want me to, er..." he glanced at Tima and Kenichi, "pay him a visit?"

"You were late this morning," responded Theo, "I had someone else talk to him. Don't worry about it."

"Really? Who?

"Dione."

The room's conversation stopped dead, and Myth paled.

"You- you're kidding, right?"

"No," Theo shrugged, mystified, "why is it such a big deal? You weren't here for the questioning, I got someone else. Simple."

Myth grabbed Theo's shoulders, nearly pulling him from the sill and shaking him while Kenichi watched in confusion. "Do you know what you've done!? He's-" Myth glanced at Kenichi again and lowered his voice, "He's probably dead by now. Resting in pieces. Understand? Dione hates Marduks!"

"Oh..." said Theo, "Oh! Really? I, uh... didn't-"

"There's no time for that! Where's he being held? We have to get to him!"

"Cell B-"

Myth cut him off and went for the door, looking panicked, dragging Theo behind him. Kenichi and Tima dashed after in their wake.

***************** 

Subaru had just finished cleaning the last of the muck off the floor, and dropped his worn mop into the water bucket. Strangely, from this angle it did look a bit... Red... 

The metallic smell came to him again, and in a flash he knew what it was.

Blood.

He'd been scrubbing bloody footprints off the floor.

Subaru backed away, only splashing in more blood-tinted puddles behind him, staring at the ground in disgust. Without a word, he turned and ran for Theo.

****************** 

"God, you're so stupid-" panted Myth, dashing through dusty corridors to the few tiny cells belowground, "I can't believe- you'd- be- so- fucking- _stupid_-"

Theo said nothing, only grimaced and concentrated on running. They screeched to a halt outside a cell door, seeing red-brown footprints and smeared splotches scattered at random. 

"Keys, keys..." muttered Theo, digging through his pockets, " I know they're here somewhere..." 

Myth placed a hand on the door, watching it swing open a bit. 

"No need."

"She... Didn't lock it behind her?"

"No."

"That's not good, is it?"

"Not likely," said Myth, and with that, pushed the heavy metal door inwards in one screeching motion. Both of them stepped back at the stench of blood that rushed out. It stank of fear and pain, and was entirely sickening. 

Myth approached the boy in the middle of the room slowly, unable to tell whether he were living or dead. placing a hand on the Marduk's neck, he got a faint, sluggish pulse, but nearly slipped and fell backwards in the pooled liquid at his feet.

"Help me!" he called to Theo, looping an arm around the prisoner's shoulders and levering him up, "we've got to get him help before he dies on us- Help me get him out of here, and to somewhere we can actually _do something_!"

Theo was hesitant about helping a Marduk, but complied. Together, they lifted the dead weight off the floor and began to carry him, slowly, from the cell. Kenichi, who'd been watching the proceedings from afar, flinched back from the injured Marduk, nauseated by the sight and smell of the Marduk's oozing blood- It was only as they shuffled by with their burden that he recognized his face.

"R- Rock!?" he cried, "Is that the Marduk _leader_!?" He drew back, half-interested and half repelled. Tima, on the other hand, seemed to be studying him carefully. 

"Yeah," Myth looked distracted, "move, would ya?"

Kenichi edged back against the wall, looking sick. He held Tima back from the unconscious man, as she was trying to touch him. Myth and Theo shuffled by with their burden.

****************** 

"Lay him down here-"

"-Bandages?"

"You've got-"

There were too many people in the revolutionaries' small, ersatz infirmary to get any clear conversations across. At least ten crowded the small room, desperate to save their prisoner's ebbing life. Slightly ironic... But if he died, they would have nothing to bargain with. 

Myth was occupied with cleaning the crusted blood from the Marduk's lacerations, trying to get a clear idea of just how bad his injuries were, when Subaru rushed in, proclaiming something about blood in the front hall. No one paid him much attention. Theo hunted for bandages and gauze, along with two others, women who Myth thought were named Arika and Hespere. Another man searched through the drawers for needle and thread for stitches. Myth looked down to continue cleaning the wounds. It was as he did that he noticed something strange- the exposed cuts seemed to form some sort of pattern. 

Wiping away more caked blood with a wet cloth, he saw the design extend halfway down the Marduk's chest and what seemed to be script below it. Feeling rather sickened at imagining Dione doing this to anyone, Myth cleaned away the last of the blood and came face to face with the Marduk's trademark dragon carved into flesh. The words below seemed to be... Latin? 

"Do any of you know any latin?" He asked to the room in general, not hoping for much. However, Hespere responded right away.

"A little... Not much. Why?"

"There's something carved into him. Can you translate it?"

"What, you mean, as in... The words _cut into him_?! Eurgh!"

"Just get over here."

She looked, and Myth wiped away the freshly welling blood that was beginning to hide the letters.

"Concido... Angelus?" She said, half to herself, "how strange..."

"What does it mean?"

"Well, Concido can mean to be ruined, to fail, to fall or die, to be cut up..." here she looked at the prisoner's wounds, "but together, in this context..."

"What?"

"Fallen Angel."


End file.
